


Dark Eyes

by emwebb17



Series: Off The Reservation [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 08:10:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21033047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emwebb17/pseuds/emwebb17
Summary: After breaking out of prison, Castiel convinces (read: coerces) Dean to come with him to Chicago.





	Dark Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally RPF. I did a basic find and replace for this fic. If there are glaring errors or things that seem a little odd, let me know and I'll try to correct them. This has been the most requested series to have put back on AO3 as Destiel, and I just wanted to get it out there because I can't find the time to proofread it.

**"Dark Eyes" is a Russian folk song about desiring and fearing someone.**

Dean rounded the corner into what used to be an office and was now a burned out husk with shattered glass covering the ground. It had one tiny window which allowed some light from the streetlamp outside to trickle into the otherwise dark space. That small amount of light was better than nothing as the rest of the former office building was all but pitch black.

Dean threw himself against the wall by the door and slid down beneath the open space where an interior window had been. Glass crackled under his weight, but he ignored the possibility of it puncturing his clothing as he went completely still to make the noise stop. He was too close to panicking to get his breathing under quiet control, but at least he wasn’t gasping loudly for air like he had been when he’d been running down the corridor. He put his hand to his arm where he felt a sharp pain on his triceps. He immediately felt something warm, wet, and sticky on his fingers. He pulled his hand back in shock, and even though he couldn’t really see anything, he could tell his fingers were darker than his hand. His eyes widened. He’d been shot! He’d been fucking shot. With a gun. Granted it must have barely grazed him because it felt like a cut instead of a hole in his arm, but still! He’d been shot! With a gun.

Dean remained stupidly fixated on that fact and squeezed the hand of his injured arm into a fist—only he couldn’t because he was holding a gun. Dean flinched and almost dropped the weapon. He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, and doing his best not to just start crying and screaming.

What was he doing here? How had he gotten himself into this lunatic situation? No, how had _he_ gotten him here. This was all Castiel fucking Novak’s fault. And he could trace it all back to the blind obedience to take a ride to a little meeting. No, that hadn’t been it. It had been when he’d stood up for the fucking psychopath in front of a gathering of Russian mafia lords. Wait, no, he never would have met them if he hadn’t gone with Castiel to Chicago. No, he hadn’t really had a choice in going to Chicago, but if he’d just not opened his door when the freak came back for him in LA. Actually, if he’d not been an idiot and become infatuated with him when they first met while he was a guard at the prison Castiel was incarcerated in absolutely none of this would have happened. But how he met Castiel and got sucked into a truly bizarre relationship with him was another story. The story of how he wound up hiding in an abandoned building bleeding from a gunshot wound started eight months ago in his crappy LA apartment.

~~~

“Evening, Boss.”

Dean stared at the man in front of him. It was _him_. An escaped prisoner with Russian mafia connections who everyone knew, but was unable to prove, was a murderer. A man he had however unwittingly helped escape prison. A man he had submitted himself to and allowed to be used in a sick, depraved game of sexual manipulation. A man he had become dependent on to feel any sort of self-worth. A man with eyes and a smile and a body that made his blood scream out to fall to his knees and let him do what he pleased with him.

Dean made a face and slammed the door shut.

“Hey!”

Castiel stuck himself partway through the opening and Dean leaned against the door trying to push him back out.

“Go away!” Dean said. “I’m calling the cops.”

“Shut-up, no you’re not.”

“I will! As soon as I get this door shut and locked, I’m calling the cops, so you’d better just leave now.”

Dean planted his feet and shoved harder, but Castiel had most of his torso in the way and pushed back.

“Come on, Dean, I’ve been traveling for thirty-six hours on no sleep just to see you.”

“I don’t care! You’re going to get me arrested!”

“No, I won’t. Dean, come on, baby, don’t be like that.”

Dean momentarily forgot to push on the door. “Don’t be like _what_?”

Castiel surged forward and Dean stumbled as the door pushed him back. Castiel entered and slammed the door behind him. Dean’s eyes darted around the room, looking for another exit. He was gripped with cold fear. He was positive Castiel was here to kill him. But why? He hadn’t done anything that might get him caught or revealed anything about him, which considering he knew next to nothing about him was not really that hard to do.

Castiel stalked forward and Dean backpedaled until he hit a wall. Castiel didn’t stop walking until he had an arm over Dean’s head on the wall and their bodies were pressed together. Dean swallowed and was able to keep himself from reacting _too_ much to the proximity. Castiel tilted his head and waited until Dean made eye contact; he barely repressed a sigh when he was once again staring into that brilliant, inhuman blue of his irises.

“Hey, baby boy.”

Dean closed his eyes and groaned. So much for self-control. His dick was rapidly filling and the resulting erection was nudging Castiel’s groin, letting him know that he still had the same effect on him. Castiel hummed his approval, rocking his hips forward just enough that Dean’s lips parted on a silent cry as he felt his cock gently encouraged to continue hardening until he was straining and already leaking from the slit after less than sixty seconds of contact.

“C-Castiel,” Dean breathed.

Castiel chuckled and nosed under Dean’s jaw. “I thought I was just imaging how good you were while I was stuck in there, but you really are perfect, sweet boy. So hard, so fast—and because it’s _me_…right?”

Dean let out a small, weak noise of confirmation.

Castiel pressed his lips to the underside of Dean’s jaw and he threw his head back, cursing the wall for being in his way and reaching up to grab Castiel’s shoulder with his left hand.

“Good boy,” Castiel sighed. “Now. Take off your clothes.”

Dean waited for Castiel to step back, but he remained in place.

“Are you ignoring me, boy?”

Dean’s eyes flew open at his sharp tone. “N-no. I just—you’re—”

“Take off your clothes,” Castiel repeated, eyes gone hard and cold at having to repeat himself.

Dean immediately reached his fingers between their chests to start working frantically at the buttons on his dress shirt. Castiel shushed him softly, telling him to relax. He did, but only minutely. It was hard getting the buttons undone with no space between their bodies, but at last he got the final one free and managed to pull the fabric out and off his shoulders. Fortunately he wasn’t wearing an undershirt or tie. He shimmied a little to get the shirt to drop from his arms. He looked up to Castiel’s eyes for approval.

“Keep going,” Castiel said quietly, his eyes locked on Dean’s.

Dean didn’t dare look away as he reached for the belt around his waist. It was harder to get the clasp of the belt undone than it had the buttons of his shirt, and his hand kept bumping the top of his twitching cock, making him grunt pleasurably. And every time he did, Castiel’s smile grew wider. At last he was able to start on the button and zipper of his pants and he bit his lip to hold back a moan as the movement pulled and dragged on his erection. But as he pulled the zipper down, the back of his hand rubbed against the answering bulge in Castiel’s pants. He could see Castiel’s eyes go dark with satisfaction at the touch and Dean whimpered and ran his hand back up, and then turned it over to cup him. Castiel rolled his hips into his hand a couple of times before saying, “Continue.”

Dean immediately hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and underwear and pushed down, but he could only get it down a few inches because he was still pressed upright against the wall by Castiel’s body. He reached back and managed to get the fabric mostly over his ass, and then he had to kick his shoes off and step on the end of his socks to pull them off so that his toes were free to grab the pants legs and pull them down. The small movements made him shift and rub against Castiel, the friction from his T-shirt and jeans resulting in minor torture of his nipples and throbbing dick. Just to be thorough, once his pants were around his ankles, he stepped out of them and kicked them away.

Castiel laughed and petted a hand through his hair. “Dean, how did I get so lucky?”

“Lucky?”

He leaned forward and stopped just short of kissing him. “Show me your bedroom, little cowboy. It’s time you showed you me how well you can ride.”

Dean sucked in a sharp breath and leaned forward to kiss him, but Castiel pulled back. And then smacked the side of his ass—hard.

“Move.”

Dean gritted his teeth and was careful to keep his eyes down so that his irritation wouldn’t show. He walked to his bedroom, feeling exposed and embarrassed. He couldn’t even hear Castiel’s shoed feet on the wooden floors. Was it the soles of the shoes or Castiel’s talent? Or maybe he wasn’t even following him. Dean knew that wasn’t true; he could…_sense_ him just behind him.

Once in the bedroom Dean started feeling a little less aroused. He still wasn’t sure if Castiel was here for a quick fuck down memory lane or if he was planning on killing him. He stopped at the foot of the bed and gasped softly when he felt a feather-light touch of fingertips on one shoulder. His hair stood on end and his skin tingled just like when a building storm made the very air crackle with electricity. It snapped through his whole body and instantly fortified his flagging erection.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

“Not even close,” Castiel whispered right in his ear.

Dean yelped as he was shoved forward onto the bed. He bounced a couple of times and dared to turn over onto his back. Castiel was walking around the foot of the bed, staring at him. Dean started trembling slightly, his brain screaming with fear and warring with his fight or flight response…but his body…fuck. His feet were flat on the bed, knees bent, and he let his legs fall open. He leaned back on his elbows and let Castiel look at him.

“Touch it, baby boy. What have you been doing for five months without me?”

“N-nothing like that.”

Castiel stopped moving and turned his eyes on him. Dean shivered from the cold anger burning in them.

“What did I tell you about lying to me, Dean?”

Dean felt his chin quiver as tears threatened. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath to force down the tears. And then he spoke.

“Some nights I’m angry. I drink and I throw things. Some nights I cry because…But most nights…” Dean inhaled deeply, and keeping his eyes closed, reached a hand down to loosely circle his dick. He moved his hand up and down a few times, biting his lip as the usual pleasure was increased a hundred fold because Castiel wasn’t just in his head. He was actually here watching him.

“That all, pretty?”

Dean shook his head and stopped moving his hand up and down. He just squeezed his shaft over and over again.

“Some nights…” He opened his eyes and looked at his nightstand.

Castiel followed his eye line and walked over to the small table. He opened the drawer and chuckled softly.

“Let’s see, lube, tissues, and oh my! What have we here?” Castiel pulled the massive dildo out and hefted it in his hand. He was grinning. “Either you have romanticized your memory of me or you found me quite inadequate.”

He raised an eyebrow at Dean, but Dean couldn’t smile or laugh at his evident humor at the monster toy.

“I had to keep buying them bigger and bigger. They never satisfied me.”

Castiel’s smile faded a little as Dean forced himself to maintain eye contact. He could feel his chest heaving just a little with his nervous breathing. Castiel tossed the lube at him.

“Show me.”

Dean’s face crumpled into pleading. “Castiel, please don’t make me…”

“Shh, baby, shh. Don’t be upset. You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

Dean closed his eyes and turned his head away.

“Ah-ah, none of that. Eyes open, head forward.”

Dean complied and found Castiel standing at the foot of the bed, still holding the dildo, and looking expectantly at him. Dean took a moment to take in the man in front of him. He looked the same, but different. He wasn’t bigger or thinner; he had the same slim but toned muscle visible through the clinging fabric of his black long-sleeved T-shirt. His hips were hidden beneath the thicker fabric of denim when Dean was used to seeing him in thin cotton, but that same denim clad his thighs and calves tightly, showing off powerful, muscular legs. His hair wasn’t longer or shorter, though away from the sickly fluorescents of the prison it seemed a little darker. His face was that same strange mix of angles and planes that came together in a unique beauty that was still utterly masculine. And his eyes…that’s what was different Dean realized. They were the same deep ocean blue, still hard, still glittering with intelligence and schemes…but outside of his cage there was a wildness to them. Dean realized now Castiel had been tamed while he’d been in prison.

His lips parted on a soft cry of pleasure as that thought correlated with the upstroke of his wrist. He hadn’t even realized he’d been slowly pumping his cock as he’d examined Castiel, but now he was aware of his body again. His knees were splayed wide, hiding nothing from Castiel’s gaze and his fingertips collected the steady stream of precome leaking out of him and spread it down his shaft. More noises poured out of his throat and he licked his lips on a gasp. Castiel shifted his weight. Dean looked down to his groin…he was hard. Dean smiled and pulled harder. Castiel wanted him. Because he was doing a good job. He raised his eyes to Castiel’s and felt a small smile on his lips. Castiel raised an eyebrow.

“Gotten cocky, little boy. Use the lube. Let me see how you got yourself ready for this.” He wiggled the toy in his hand.

Dean picked up the lube with his free hand, giving his abs a workout as he remained sitting partway up with only one elbow providing partial support. He flicked the cap open one handed and squeezed out a large blob onto his palm. He dropped the tube and moved his hand quickly between his legs before the gel could slide off his skin. He put his hand to his hole and rubbed over the entrance with three fingers, getting them wet as he stimulated himself. He wanted to drop his head back and give into the pleasurable sensations, but he didn’t want to break eye contact. A small part of him was terrified this was a dream. As afraid as he was of what Castiel’s intentions might be after their reunion was over, the thought of him being a projection of his subconscious was unimaginably worse.

Dean rolled his fingers, getting them slicked up all over and grunting with excitement when his knuckles caught on the rim. He scrunched himself up a little and turned his hand to insert his middle finger. It slid right in and Dean pumped it in and out in time with the hand on his cock. Castiel remained quiet and implacable—except Dean saw that his hand had tightened around the dildo—his knuckles going just white at the tips.

“Second one,” Castiel said calmly, though his voice was a little strained.

Dean pulled his finger out and paired his index and middle fingers together. He pushed them in, not even trying to be careful. He twitched and groaned harshly at the abrupt intrusion, but it hadn’t been so bad. He’d been stretching himself on the dildo for weeks now; two slippery fingers weren’t anything to get delicate about. He circled them and scissored them and spread them as wide as possible as he pulled them almost out. He was certain Castiel had a good view of his stretched entrance and the pink of his inner walls.

“Shit, baby. You’ve learned a lot in five months.”

Dean moved his ring finger to join the other two and shoved them all inside, crying out and arching off the bed. That had hurt. But it reminded him of when Castiel had taken him—taken his virginity—too big, not enough lube, too fast—and nothing had felt better. He kept hoping that if he found the right pain again it would be like having Castiel back, but nothing even came close. He shoved his fingers in to the last knuckle, reaching awkwardly with his arm to make it happen. He had to stop moving his hand on his dick, but it didn’t make a difference. All three fingers were rubbing his prostate and Dean squirmed and writhed on the bed.

“C-Castiel!”

Castiel let out a small sound and then ruthlessly cut himself off. He tossed the dildo onto the bed and then crossed his arms.

“Fuck yourself, sweet boy. No more lube.”

Dean sobbed out a moan and picked up the toy. He pulled his fingers out and immediately replaced them with the wide head of the dildo, repressing a cry of pain as he pushed it into him. He’d never tried to get the thing in him without lube, and now it was dragging and stretching and burning. Dean finally let his head fall back on the mattress, crying out as he continued to push it in, feeling the silicone veins rubbing against his insides. The head of the toy dragged across his prostate and he pumped it back and forth rapidly, feeling the lip catch on the bundle of nerves again and again. The pain was all but gone now and sparking pleasure was all that was left.

“Fuck! Castiel!”

“More, Dean,” Castiel’s voice sounded tense. “In and out, baby. Fast. Hard.”

Dean complied.

“Good, now twist. Yes, just like that. Twist in, and twist back out. Faster, Dean. Hand off your dick. That’s mine. No one, not even you, touches it unless I say so.”

Dean was keening wildly, his voice rising and turning into full-bodied yelling.

“Use that hand to feel your hole. That’s right; slide your fingers around it. Keep pumping, baby. Do you feel it?”

Dean couldn’t keep his voice under control as he nodded his head. He ran his fingers over the top of his entrance, feeling his index and middle fingers sliding wetly around the large, hard shape of his hole the fake dick had stretched it into.

“Harder, sweetheart. You’re doing so well. You’re fucking beautiful, you know that? Shove it in you, Dean. Just like that…oh fuck…just like that. Work your hips. Stop biting your lip. Scream. Scream for me, Dean.”

Dean could feel each ecstasy filled shout as it left his throat, but he couldn’t hear it for all the crackling static and electricity filling his ears. Even with his eyes closed he could see white creeping around the edges of his vision.

“Perfect,” Castiel breathed. “Never seen anything like you…come. Now. Come for me.”

Dean clenched his jaw and kept moving his hand but shook his head back and forth twice, doing his best to ignore his body’s demand that he obey.

“No!”

“No?” Castiel’ voice suddenly lacked all signs of pleased arousal. “What did you—”

Dean opened his eyes and pulled the dildo out. He flung it across the room and he could tell Castiel was surprised, but he recovered quickly. Dean met his gaze, chest heaving with exertion and arousal, his hole clenching achingly.

“Not on that.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Don’t disappoint me, Dean,” he said coldly. “Don’t make my coming here a mistake. I don’t make mistakes.”

Dean shivered, seeing the end of his life in Castiel’s eyes. He swallowed thickly and felt his brows crease in begging desperation.

“Don’t you want me?” he whimpered softly.

Castiel’s arms dropped to his sides as his lips parted. His eyes darkened, but not with anger or dangerous intent. Dean panted in response to Castiel’s desire.

“Take what’s yours,” Dean whispered.

Castiel’s hands darted to his groin. His fly was open in a matter of seconds and he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Dean’s mouth watered at the sight of Castiel’s huge, uncut cock as it sprung free, thick and heavy and bigger than he remembered it. The toy was actually only slightly bigger. He squeaked when Castiel grabbed him behind the knees and yanked him to the edge of the bed. He pushed up on his legs and practically bent Dean in half, leaving his hole open and perfectly positioned for Castiel to sink right into him. Except, without lube, his hot skin pushed painfully at his rim and dragged a burning path inside his body. Dean relaxed to allow him entry and soon felt the man’s balls nestled snugly against his ass.

Dean’s whole body was vibrating. He was filled and complete and crying for an absolution he hadn’t even known he’d been craving. Then Castiel moved and Dean could feel every inch moving in his body. He felt it pull away, but then slide back home. There was no pain, no pleasure, just the sensation that his body was fulfilling its purpose—holding Castiel.

Then Dean returned to the physical realm when Castiel gripped his dick. And suddenly there was pleasure again. Ecstasy rocketing through every limb and just the perfect amount of pain as a back note keeping the pleasure from becoming unbearable.

“Fuck, baby boy, I’ve wanted this. I didn’t want to leave you behind—I didn’t want to be without such a good, sweet, _obedient_—” he fucked in hard on the last word and Dean screamed—“boy. So, good. So, fucking good. Dean, you take it so well. I bet I could…” he trailed off and put his hands behind Dean’s thighs, spreading him wider and started pounding his ass so hard and fast Dean could do nothing but let out a steady, desperate moan, the sound wavering with Castiel’s movements like in a bad porno. Or a good one. This would definitely be a good one. Castiel spread Dean’s legs wider and lowered his body just enough so that as he kept up his relentless pace, Dean’s prostate was getting drilled.

Dean screamed louder and louder, clawing at the sheets, feeling his balls tighten and his dick quiver and suddenly he was lost in rapture—endorphins flooding his body and soaking every nerve ending resulting in a violent frisson. His body was drawn tight as a bow, jerking with each new wave of the orgasm’s aftershocks. He was like an exposed nerve—everything was stimulating and even the gentle brush of air from the air conditioning was making him shiver and attempt to come again.

When he opened his eyes, they were slightly out of focus, but he saw what he needed to see: Castiel was over him, close, still buried inside. He raised a hand and touched his cheek, feeling the light scuff under his fingers—it was soft and almost downy. He weakly raised his head, wanting nothing more than to kiss Castiel.

Castiel jerked back. “That was very pretty, sweet boy. You did well.”

Dean lowered his head to the bed, confused by the flatness of Castiel’s voice. He winced and gasped in shocked pain when Castiel suddenly pulled out of him. He was still hard. Why didn’t he…?

Castiel flipped him roughly onto his stomach and used his grip on his hips to put him on his elbows and knees, ass presented up in the air. Castiel pushed back in and Dean grunted at the roughness of it. His jaw dropped open in surprise at how good it still felt to be fucked even after he’d orgasmed. But he could tell it was perfunctory for Castiel. He was rutting like an animal and it wasn’t long before he shot warm, creamy loads of his jizz into Dean’s ass. Dean felt an echo of an orgasm flare from his groin and collapsed onto his arms, face against the mattress, panting. Castiel rocked his hips a little, working his seed into Dean’s body. And then he slipped free. Dean clenched his ass; he didn’t want any of Castiel’s essence to escape. Without Castiel’s steadying hands on his hips, he slumped to the side and focused on breathing.

He wasn’t sure how long it took for cognitive functioning to return, but he knew Castiel had left the room. He could hear sounds coming from the kitchen, so he knew he hadn’t left his apartment. Dean turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He put a hand to his forehead.

What was he doing? He’d been petrified after their last encounter in prison and had gotten tested for every STD known to man every two weeks for two months. Unsurprisingly he’d come back clean; he didn’t think a man as careful and calculating as Castiel Novak would put himself at risk like that. But still, it had been a possibility, and here he was doing his best to not let any of the hit man’s spend slip from his body. And all he could think about was getting Castiel hard again, getting on his knees, and blowing him until he spilled his salty release onto Dean’s tongue, splattering onto his inner cheeks and teeth. Dean swallowed the saliva building up in his mouth at the thought.

He ran his hands down his thighs and spread his legs, feeling his groin stir. He wanted Castiel’s cock in his mouth. As good as it felt to get fucked by him, he needed to taste him. He wondered if he was allowed to get up. Castiel hadn’t said he couldn’t, but he also hadn’t said that he could. Anger flared bright in Dean’s vision. He didn’t need his permission to move around in his own home. And if he was going to kill him, he sure as fuck wasn’t just going to lay here and wait for it.

Dean got to his feet still feeling loose and pliant and pleasantly sore from their activities. Tomorrow he’d be lucky if he could walk, but for now he was still swimming in enough adrenaline he could probably do back flips and not feel a thing. He walked into his bathroom and used a wash cloth to clean his chest and stomach of his own semen. At least that part was familiar. He frowned as he felt the warm dribble of Castiel’s come wetting between his thighs and running down his leg. He didn’t want to wipe it away, but it would get sticky and just be itchy later. He ran the cloth over his legs and then looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was a wild mess and his cheeks had a pink glow. He looked sated and fucked out—and kind of happy.

“Shit.”

“What are you doing?”

Dean started violently and turned to find Castiel standing in the frame of the door to the bathroom, a tumbler in his hand with about two fingers of what was probably the Scotch his father had given him when he’d moved out to LA.

“J-Just cleaning up.”

“Well, hurry. You’ve got to pack.”

Dean blinked as Castiel walked away. “Pack?” He followed the man out into the hall. “Am I going somewhere?”

“Chicago,” Castiel said as he settled gingerly on Dean’s dilapidated couch. He brushed off some crumbs from the arm with a displeased expression on his face.

“Why am I going to Chicago?”

“That’s where I live.”

Dean stared at him and waited for some more information. Castiel just stared back at him and took a sip from his glass.

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“You’re going with me to Chicago.”

“I am?”

“Well, you’ve seen me. I obviously can’t just leave you here.”

The “alive” was implicitly understood.

Dean clenched a hand into a fist. “You can’t just—”

Dean broke off realizing telling Castiel he couldn’t do something was a ridiculous thing to do. The man obviously didn’t think any rules applied to him. So, he decided to change tactics.

“Why?”

“Asked and answered,” Castiel sighed. “You really should start packing. I’m leaving as soon as my drink is finished and you’ll come with whatever you have. That includes anything you are or are _not_ wearing.”

Dean opened his mouth to voice some kind of protest or displeasure at least, but then decided it might be smarter to yell at the psychopath while he was getting dressed. Just in case. He ran into his bedroom and opened his underwear drawer as he called out, “You answered why I was going to Chicago.” He hopped into a clean pair of jeans and turned to his closet to pull out a shirt. “You never said why _you_ want me to go—”

Dean started with a shout and dropped the T-shirt in his hands when he saw Castiel had moved to lean against the doorjamb of his bedroom.

“Jesus, fuck, Castiel.” He glanced at the tumbler. There was only one finger of amber liquid left. He quickly donned the T-shirt he’d dropped and then pulled a duffel bag from the bottom of his closet and began to dump clothes and underwear inside.

“I did answer that,” Castiel replied to his question. “You’ve seen me. I can’t risk you growing a conscience and turning me in.”

“Growing a—!” Dean turned to glare at the man. His eyes were focused and trained on Dean’s face. Dean turned away from his scrutiny and continued packing. “I _have_ a conscience. I also have a strong sense of self-preservation. And besides, there was nothing for me to tell when you escaped anyway. It’s not like I fucking knew what you were planning, did I?”

Dean glanced at Castiel and the man was swirling the Scotch in his glass. Eyes still focused on him. Dean turned away and began to tuck extra shoes and socks into the duffel’s side pockets.

“You didn’t have to come here. You came here knowing that you’d force me to go with you. Why bother? Because I can’t possibly be _that_ good of a lay.”

“Good enough,” Castiel murmured. “And I’m not forcing you to do anything.”

Dean tossed his duffel onto the bed and wondered what else one would pack when being spirited away in the middle of the night by a Russian mafia hit man.

“Not forcing me? You said I have to leave when you finish your drink. With the ridiculous ‘or else’ implied.”

“Yes. And that is a choice, is it not?”

“Leave or die? No, that’s not really a choice, Castiel.”

“I’m going to be frank, Dean. I don’t like your tone.”

“Then I’ll return the favor and be frank as well. I don’t like your psychosis!”

Dean gulped nervously as the full stupidity of his attitude and statements started to sink in. But Castiel merely smiled.

“I love it when you get riled up. Your cheeks get flushed and your eyes tear up. It’s cute.”

“I’m not crying, you fuckwad.”

Castiel arched an eyebrow.

“What the fuck are you going to do with me in Chicago? Have you thought about this at all? I mean, I can’t just take off on no notice. People will ask questions. My family will definitely notice if I suddenly disappear. Do you really want a police investigation started? My picture flashed all over the news? There’s a pretty good chance someone in Chicago will recognize me and that will draw attention to you and your…_employers_.”

“Not if you don’t go outside.” Castiel took a sip of his drink.

Dean gaped. And then flapped his jaw. And then sputtered, “I’m not going to live in some basement cage and be your idea of a joke of a kept man! I would rather be dead!”

Dean sucked in a sharp breath as soon as the words left his mouth. This was not a normal argument with a normal human being. This was a situation where the other person would fulfill his desire to be dead. Castiel stepped into the room and Dean took a couple of reflexive steps back. Then he held his ground as Castiel got closer. He started to tremble, terrified that Castiel was going to kill him now. He wasn’t amusing him anymore, he was giving him attitude, he was being defiant and not obedient. Castiel walked right into his personal space and set his glass down on the dresser behind Dean. He reached a hand up and stroked gentle fingers down Dean’s cheek. Dean closed his eyes and felt a tear fall down his cheek, soaking into Castiel’s skin.

“Do you mean that?” Castiel asked quietly. “Would you rather die than be with me?”

Dean swallowed thickly and kept his eyes closed as he answered. “That’s not what you’re giving me a choice between. You’re asking if I want to die quickly or slowly.”

“Hunh.”

Dean started as Castiel gave him a quick peck on the lips. He opened his eyes and saw the man picking up his glass and draining the last of the liquid.

“Then we’ll do this on the up. Tell everyone you moved to Chicago for a great job opportunity. No one worries, no one calls the police. Happy?”

“But—”

“Get your bag. The meter is about to run out on my car.”

“The parking is unlimited after eight o’clock. What job?”

“Move Dean.”

Dean grabbed his bag off the bed and followed Castiel’s retreating back out of the room. He ducked into the bathroom and threw in his toothbrush, toothpaste, and deodorant.

“Faster, Dean. You can buy toiletries in literally thousands of stores across America.”

That was true. What couldn’t he replace? In the living room Castiel was waiting by the front door, holding it open. Dean dashed across the room and grabbed the framed picture of his family that for the better part of eight months had been turned toward the wall. He froze as he looked at the image of his perfectly composed, smiling family dressed all in white. His brother and half-brother and even he had real smiles that reached their eyes. His mother looked elegant, but also at ease and self-confident. His father had a friendly smile on his face, but his expression, especially in his eyes, was the no nonsense, self-possessed surety that was the result of his fanatical adherence to his personal beliefs.

What was he doing? Was he fleeing with a wanted murderer to go live some place where he had no friends or family just so that he could be a source of amusement to said murderer? What if Castiel grew tired of him? What if Castiel was killed on one of his jobs? Would his life be forfeit if Castiel’s employers thought he knew too much? And he knew he would never be able to see his family again. Maybe he could send some e-mails, call once or twice a year. They would probably think he’d joined a cult. And he supposed he sort of had—he’d been brainwashed after all.

“Dean,” Castiel hissed in his ear and yanked his head back by gripping the hair on the top of his head. Dean cried out, but kept his hold on the picture and arched his body forward when he felt the sharp prick at his spine at the small of his back. Castiel pushed the knife a little harder and it cut through his shirt and his skin. Dean winced but didn’t fight back or try to pull away.

“Why are you disobeying me?”

“I-I’m not. I just need this. We can go.”

Castiel pushed harder and Dean sucked in a sharp breath. At least an inch of the blade had gone in. He was probably one more bad answer away from paralysis. Swiftly followed by death.

“I’m sorry, Castiel. I am. I can’t pretend that I haven’t wanted this.” The pressure eased slightly. “I’ve dreamed it and imagined it a thousand ways. You coming for me. Me finding you. I’ve always felt like such a fraud. I put on such an ugly mask for everyone around me because they like it better than my real face.”

“Stow the metaphors, boy.”

“I’m scared, Castiel. I’m scared there’s something wrong with me that the only person who accepts me for who I am has to be a murderous psychopath. I—”

Dean cut off, fully expecting to feel the knife plunge in to the hilt. Instead Castiel withdrew it completely. He released his grip on his hair and pushed lightly on Dean’s shoulder to make him turn around and face him. Castiel tapped the bloody point of the knife on the glass frame of the picture, smearing red across his father’s face.

“You would feel better if you had their acceptance?”

“Doesn’t everyone want to feel accepted by the people they love?”

“I accept you.”

“But—you don’t love me.”

“No. But you love me.”

Dean made a face. “I do fucking—mmf!”

Dean squirmed as Castiel pulled him close and kissed him—placing his hand over the open wound at his back and digging his fingers into it. His moans of pain were stifled by Castiel’s lips and the more he writhed to get away from the pain, the closer he drove himself to Castiel.

Castiel stopped kissing him and removed his fingers from the wound at the same time. Dean hissed in a breath and tried to adjust the picture frame so it wasn’t digging into his abdomen quite so painfully. Castiel either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the sharp corner that was digging in just below his ribs. Dean heaved in a few deep breaths and looked into Castiel’s eyes. The deep, dark depths threatened to swallow him whole and Dean swayed forward, brushing his lips against Castiel’s.

“I love you, Castiel.”

The man laughed softly. “I know, baby boy. I’ll take care of you. Come on.”

It wasn’t until they were on the freeway, driving nearly a hundred miles an hour in some illegal sports car that Dean came out of his trance. He fingered the picture of his family he still held in his hands and then looked out the window at the scenery that was blowing by impossibly fast. He looked at Castiel who was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping out a pattern on his thigh.

“Why, Castiel? Why me?”

Castiel changed lanes. And actually fucking signaled.

“I weighed the pros and cons of taking you back with me. There were more pros than cons.”

“What could possibly be on the pros list? Other than my willingness to open wide at either end.”

Castiel’s lips curled up at the corners. “One of your finer qualities, pretty.”

Dean blushed at his expression and the hand that moved from his thigh to Dean’s, rubbing lightly, fingers dipping inside and brushing up against his fly.

“You’re the first person in a long time that has—been a person.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Castiel turned his head to grin at him. “Neither do I.”

Dean knew they were going way too fast for Castiel not to be paying attention to the road every second, but he couldn’t even pull his own eyes from that magnetic stare to look out the windshield. It was probably better if he didn’t see his death coming anyway. If he was going to die, he could probably go happily with his last sight on earth being the cold promise of possession flashing in crazed blue eyes.

Then Castiel snapped his head forward and swerved around a motorcycle and in between two cars that honked and jerked sideways at the sudden disruption to the pattern of traffic. But then they were already miles ahead of them, nothing but a trail of taillights.

Dean sat back in his seat and felt his heart thudding wildly. He glanced down to his lap and saw that Castiel was cupping and massaging his erection. He moaned softly and leaned back, spreading his legs. He licked his lips and gripped the leather covered handle in the door.

“This car’s a little flashy for a wanted man, don’t you think?” Dean asked breathlessly.

Castiel just chuckled and floored it.

~~~

Somehow every new experience with Castiel became the best and worst experience of Dean’s life. The two thousand mile drive from LA to Chicago had been pleasurable torture. Every time they had to stop to refuel, which was often in the gas guzzler they were flying down the highway in, Castiel found a cheap, seedy motel that rented rooms by the hour. They were always in and out within the hour, and Dean still hadn’t gotten what he really wanted: Castiel coming down his throat. He’d been fucked six ways to Sunday, covered from neck to thigh in Castiel’s and his own warm, thick come. Castiel had shot a couple loads into Dean’s underwear and made him wear the pair even as it became stiff and uncomfortable. Not that having Castiel’s seed leak out of his ass had helped matters. On one occasion Castiel had pulled off the highway after locating a sex shop and bought a dildo that was at least as big as the one Dean had been using and watched while Dean got himself off on it.

Every time Castiel pulled off on an exit, arousal warred with anxiety. Dean still wasn’t sure about Castiel’s long term plans for him, and his back definitely hurt where he had a frickin knife wound in it. There hadn’t been much conversation in between stops. Not that there was much conversation during stops outside of inquiries over food and drink and of course a few “You’re so beautiful when you take my cock, sweet boy.”

As such, Dean had had some time to think. He’d been instructed by Castiel during their third stop, when it wasn’t too early, to call his parents and inform them of his new, exciting job opportunity in Chicago. It had been difficult to come up with something plausible since he had no college education and had only a brief stint as a corrections officer as a legitimate form of employment, but he’d settled on an entry level job at an advertising agency that he vaguely remembered hearing someone he went to high school with worked for. He was reasonably certain his parents were unacquainted with the parents of the guy he mentioned, so more than likely they wouldn’t cross paths nor would his mother just randomly call the mother up and ask about it. His parents had been surprised, but not overly so. Considering the circumstances of his end of employment at the prison, they had been expecting him to move away from LA eventually to get a fresh start. However, they’d been expecting him to return to Dallas, and not run off to another dangerous city far away from home. Though Chicago was about five hundred miles closer than LA, so it was technically a step in the right direction. There had been a lot of questions of course, about what the job was and what it paid and where he was going to live until he found an apartment. Dean couldn’t even remember what he’d answered because at the time, Castiel had been tracing patterns on the skin of his inner thighs with a knife. He hadn’t broken the skin, but he could always tell by the pressure whether or not Castiel was satisfied with his answers.

The answers must have at least somewhat satisfied his parents as well because they had accepted his decision with minimal yelling and sighs of disappointment. After that phone call had ended, Dean had been even more submissive to Castiel, doing his best to be obedient and please him so that he could hear that beautiful voice growl his praises in his ear while he milked Castiel’s cock with his ass. That stop had been the best one. Castiel had fucked him face to face, affirming with every thrust just how happy he was to have Dean back again. The ride after that had been horrible. He’d felt guilty for lying to his parents and depraved for talking to them while a psychotic murderer had been lying between his legs. So at the next stop, he’d been willful and insolent. And Castiel had made him pay. Dean had burn marks from the ligatures that had been tied around his wrists—and he hadn’t been allowed to come.

Some of the stops had been heaven and others had been hell. But they had all been exactly what Dean had wanted. He placed his forehead on the cool glass of the passenger side window as he watched the nighttime streets of Chicago zip past him. It had taken nearly forty-eight hours with all their stops to reach the city and Dean couldn’t bring himself to be excited enough to look around on his first trip to the metropolis. Possibly that was because this may be his last trip anywhere. He might get locked away in an attic somewhere and never let out. He could be chained up in Castiel’s sex torture dungeon for all eternity. One faked news story about a tragic shooting and his parents wouldn’t even know they should be looking for him.

He wondered what his ex-girlfriend was doing now—the one he had gone to LA for in the first place. Had she slept her way to the top yet? Or was she was working the porn circuit already. He wondered what she would think if she knew she was indirectly responsible for him becoming a psychopath’s sex slave. Okay fine, completely willing and complicit sex toy. And isn’t that what was eating him? The fact that he was an object of amusement to Castiel and he was—_Careful_, Dean warned himself. Did he really want to own up to what he'd confessed to while under Castiel's thrall? Certainly not _that_. Maybe he was enamored with the madman? No, that had _that_ word in it. Obsessed? Yes, that seemed fair. He was definitely obsessed. Infatuated. Besotted. In love.

“Shit,” Dean mumbled as his brain ignored all the carefully constructed walls he’d placed around his feelings _towards_ Castiel, if not necessarily _for_ him. Then the tension drained from his shoulders and he relaxed into the seat when he felt a hand on his leg. And that was the worst part of all. A reminder that Castiel was here, was very near, was not terrifying but soothing. He raised his head from the glass and turned to look at Castiel. He was startled to find the man staring at him.

“The road,” Dean said hoarsely.

“We’re here,” Castiel replied and made a sharp left turn in the narrow space between two cars traveling over thirty miles an hour onto the driveway of an underground parking garage. The man used an unmarked card to activate the electronic gatekeeper and a large, metal door slowly began to rise. Castiel drove down into the bowels of the garage, circling several levels before finally parking in a corner that had several other expensive looking vintage cars. And a two decade old Toyota Tercel. Interesting.

Dean carried his duffel bag toward the elevator and Castiel carried a large shopping bag from Booty, Balls, and Beyond. It contained the dildo and the ropes and the plug Castiel had used on him on their journey as well as a variety of other mystery items. He knew there was more in the bag because Castiel had told him he hadn’t earned everything yet. The thought alone made him shiver as he followed Castiel’s shoulders onto the lift. Dean kept walking and crowded the man when he turned around to push the button for his floor. Castiel allowed it and Dean buried his face in his neck, inhaling his scent.

In prison that was the one thing he’d been denied during their encounters. That incredibly intoxicating scent of Castiel himself. He’d gotten a taste of it concentrated when the man would leave him covered in his seed, and when he’d had his nose buried between his legs when he sucked him off, even with the bars in the way, but it wasn’t the same thing as the smell of his skin. It was inexplicably light and airy and reminiscent of the salty breath of the ocean in comparison to his hard nature and earthy musk.

Castiel didn’t pull him close or push him away, so Dean parted his lips and gave his neck a tentative swipe with his tongue. Then the elevator stopped with a “bing” signaling their arrival at their destination. Dean had been expecting a much longer ride, possibly to the penthouse of the skyscraper of condominiums, but they were getting off on the second floor. He supposed a hit man wouldn’t want to trap himself on a high floor.

Castiel gently pushed him back and guided him off the car just before the doors closed on them. He led them down to the end of the hall to the unit closest to the stairwell exit. Dean felt nervous energy rolling off his body; he was curious what a professional killer’s home looked like. The door swung open after Castiel unlocked three deadbolts in addition to the lock on the door. Before he could stick his head in, Castiel pushed him back and reached a hand around the corner of the wall and manipulated something. Then he bent down and investigated something in the hinge of the door. Finally he stood up and nodded his head for Dean to follow him inside. Did he keep his apartment booby trapped?

Dean looked around Castiel and caught a glimpse of a brown leather couch and then yelped as he was pushed back against the door. Castiel was in his space, in his face, and Dean's heart was thundering. But he licked his lips and strained forward against the hold Castiel had on his shoulders. The man allowed his arms to bend and Dean put his lips against the skin of Castiel's neck again. He kissed the spot, and then again lower. He started to bend his knees so he could work his way down Castiel’s body—down to where he’d been dying to taste for two days—hell, five months—now. Castiel stopped his progress and made him stand back up.

“Not now. We have an appointment.”

“We do? With whom?”

Castiel smiled as he turned and walked away. “’With whom?’”

“It’s grammatically correct,” Dean said, irritated that he was blushing a little. He followed Castiel as he led him through the large, though modest apartment. The kitchen looked modern and pristine—untouched. The living room at least had some signs of use but was very minimalist with no decorations and no TV as far as Dean could ascertain. He couldn’t see the rooms that branched off the hallway Castiel led him down, but he was pretty certain there wasn’t going to be decoration of any kind anywhere. It wasn’t that Castiel couldn’t be bothered or thought such things would be frivolous, but Dean suspected he just didn’t—_notice_ that things beyond the necessary existed. He’d notice such things when he was on a job in case they could be useful or a hindrance, but in his own space—Dean wondered what Castiel saw when he looked at the world.

At the end of the hall, Castiel opened a door and stepped to the side to allow Dean to enter. He took a couple of steps inside and looked around the room. It was large with a queen sized bed stripped of bedding in the middle of the far wall. An empty desk and rolling office chair were on the wall with one of the two windows. There was a closed door Dean presumed was a closet and another that led into a private bath. Dean turned to look at Castiel.

“This is your space. Your room. I’m not saying I won’t ever enter it, but you can do what you like in here. I’ll give you some money to buy what you need to make it comfortable.”

Dean nodded and dropped his duffel bag on the floor with a loud thump. He turned to face Castiel and clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

“My room. You mean my cage. Where I can putter around until you call me to your bedroom to service you.”

Castiel smiled again and it was starting to unnerve Dean how calm the man was acting. Maybe being home made him less edgy.

“I imagine that if I'd led you to my room and told you you would be staying with me that you would have complained that I was keeping you like a pet to keep the bed warm until I got home so you could service me.”

Dean took a moment to consider that scenario. “Maybe.”

“Hn. I’m giving you your own room because I keep odd hours and it might disrupt your sleep.”

“That’s very considerate of you,” Dean sneered half-heartedly.

“It is. And that’s fairly odd.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I still don’t know why I came back for you. I was here for months, working, returning to normal patterns. But…something made me want to see you again. So, I figured one more good fuck with that beautiful body of yours would get me set. And killing you would be cathartic.”

Dean swallowed and took half a step back.

“But I didn’t kill you. And it’s a little curious.”

Dean rubbed his forehead with a hand to hide the trembling in his fingers. “Can you just promise me to let me know you’re going to kill me before you do it? I don’t want to just wake up dead.”

“Would you really want to know?”

“I’d want you to look me in the eyes when you do it.”

Castiel scowled. “That’s cheating.”

“How so?”

“Because…” Castiel stepped forward and took Dean’s face in his hands. “How could I ever kill my sweet boy when he’s looking at me with these malachite promises of salvation?”

Dean’s breath caught in his throat. And then his brow creased and he grunted, “Huh?”

Castiel shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. I think I read it somewhere. Malachite is green, isn’t it?”

Dean closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Dean.”

Dean opened his eyes. Castiel held his gaze as firmly as his hands gripped his face.

“I take care of what’s mine.”

Dean felt his lips part on a shaky breath. “I’m yours.”

“That’s right, baby boy. Never forget it.”

Dean swayed forward, seeking more contact with the man, but he kept them apart with his arms.

“Take a shower. Put on some clean clothes, the nicest you have with you. We have an appointment.”

“With who—m.”

Dean dropped his gaze and blushed again. He was rewarded with a feather light kiss on his heated cheek.

“With my ‘employers,’ as you call them.”

~~~

Dean chewed on a nail until Castiel slapped his hand down. He repressed an annoyed grunt and leaned against the wall instead, pressing his fingers into the drywall to keep them still. They were in a large house—fuck, mansion—on the outskirts of Chicago that probably should have been farmland but was instead a heavily patrolled well manicured lawn surrounding the house of the chief don—or what the fuck ever terms the Russian mafia used. They had been ushered through large rooms done in blue and silver, ecru and salmon, and one monstrosity that was gold and brass. There were men in dark suits everywhere and as they moved through the house they were handed off to a new pair.

After making their way up to the second level, they had been shown into a small parlor with dark mahogany furniture and black accents. Castiel had chosen not to sit on the uncomfortable looking red velvet settee, the only real color in the room, and Dean had opted to stand against the wall beside him. They were left alone without an escort, but by this point they probably weren’t too concerned about the duo trying to pull anything. Dean had been frisked twice—once involving some serious ball fondling—and had had a gloved finger poking around inside his mouth. Castiel hadn’t been touched. In fact, it seemed like people were going out of their way just to make sure they didn’t accidentally bump into the guy. And all _he_ wanted was to bump and grind—

“Jesus Christ,” Dean murmured

Castiel looked at him. “What?”

“Nothing. I am sleep deprived. And there is something wrong with my head.”

Castiel smiled. “I know, pretty. It’s why I chose you.”

“Fuck you,” Dean grunted with a frown, and then jerked his eyes in Castiel’s direction to gauge his reaction. He shifted his weight when he saw Castiel’s eyes darken. Oh Dean had learned the difference between when Castiel’s eyes went black with murderous anger and when they were midnight blue with wicked plans. Dean inhaled slowly. Would he really do something here and now? There were probably cameras in the room. And they’d been left alone for thirty minutes already; did they have another thirty to go? What if someone walked in while Dean was on his knees with his face buried in Castiel’s crotch? Well, they’d get a hell of a show.

Dean had actually partially turned toward the man ready, finally, to get his mouth on Castiel’s cock. Why was he punishing him like this? Castiel just watched him with a small smile and curious eyes.

_He knows what I want and now he just wants to know if I’ll actually go through with it._

Dean turned away to face the wall opposite them and pressed back against the waist high crown molding circumventing the room, balling his hands into fists. Castiel’s soft chuckle made him shiver and close his eyes.

The doors suddenly banged open and Dean started, half ready to run, half-ready to hide behind Castiel. Until he saw that it was just some kid. Which was an ironic thought to have because he was pretty sure the “kid” was probably only a couple of years younger than himself. He was wearing jeans over skinny legs and a T-shirt with some ironic phrase on it that showed off his skinny arms and chest. The kid needed some protein. But he was good looking with dark hair and dark brown doe eyes.

“Castiel!”

The kid dashed across the room and threw himself into Castiel’s arms. Well, he threw his arms around Castiel and the man didn’t immediately snap his neck. Dean watched the scene with amusement because, really, kids with crushes on serial killers? What could be funnier? _Self-hating men in their early twenties with obsessions with hit men?_ He said funnier, not sadder.

“Castiel! I heard you got out! I wanted to come back so I could thank you in person but they wouldn’t let me leave until school was over! I can’t believe you did that for me!”

Dean raised an eyebrow. This was the kid Castiel had nearly killed some muggers for with a tire iron in LA?

“Hello, Alexei. Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Of course!” He pulled back but left his hands twined together behind Castiel’s neck. He was a few inches shorter than him so he was practically standing on tiptoe to keep their eyes almost level. “I’m not a baby, Castiel. I’m sorry for what happened in LA, but that could happen to anyone.”

“You’re lucky I was there.”

“Lucky?” Alexei smiled and Dean felt the first ugly stirrings of black jealousy. “It wasn’t luck that had you at my side. Don’t think I don’t know why you’re always close by.”

Alexei pulled himself closer, big brown eyes going into full innocent-vixen mode. Dean’s jaw clenched.

“Yes. Your father pays me a lot of money.”

Dean smirked when the kid deflated.

“Yeah. That. Okay, fine. So, how was prison?”

Castiel smiled. “Three of the best months of my life.”

Alexei frowned, perplexed. “I thought you were in prison for ten months.”

“It was only good for the last three.”

Dean felt a wave of warmth tinged with nausea roll gently over him. He hadn’t worked at the prison until the last three months of Castiel’s incarceration. God, did this fucker have to take _every_ opportunity to make fun of him?

“Well, I’m glad you’re out now. But, I’m sorry it got you so high profile. Will it make your work harder?”

“No.”

Dean was happy Castiel wasn’t responding with any sort of interest to the kid, but he really wished he would push him away or something. He shuffled his feet and looked at his hand, mostly out of boredom. The movement alerted Alexei to his presence.

“Who the fuck is that?” he asked with ice in his voice and a pretty intimidating glare.

“A project,” Castiel responded.

Dean wasn’t sure how to react to that, so fortunately that defaulted to him not reacting at all. Alexei on the other hand seemed pleased with the response.

“At least he’s better looking than the last one.”

Dean’s entire body went rigid and his eyes flicked to Castiel’s face. The man still stood impassively in Alexei’s embrace and didn’t seem to be bothered by the kid’s slip—if indeed it had been unintentional for him to learn this.

Dean felt heavy and a little sick. It’s not like he hadn’t known that he’d just been convenient for Castiel’s escape. The right body size with just the perfect amount of daddy issues to be manipulated. Dean knew that, hadn’t yet learned to live with it, but he’d been on his way to getting there. And then Castiel had shown up at his door and said he just wanted one last fuck out of him before he had to kill him. But he hadn’t killed him. And the reason he’d given was that Dean was a “person” to him. What the fuck did that mean? And why had he thought it actually meant something? Of course he was a tool, a toy, a “project.” And of course he wasn’t the first. Castiel was around thirty-five now. There had probably been a whole slew of men and maybe even women who had lived in the room Dean was now going to occupy. And after Castiel was done with them, he stripped the room and let the next person pick out a new design. Of course he was just one fuck in a long line of suckers.

“He’s more than just pretty,” Castiel said flatly, “he’s damaged. And he’s not a protégé. Different kind of project.”

This made Alexei frown, which made Dean’s frown lessen slightly. But he was still irritated.

“I’m standing right here,” he muttered.

The kid pulled away from Castiel and swung a bony fist at him. It was slow enough that Dean was able to pull away so that it didn’t connect like a true punch, but it still sent him stumbling back into the wall with sharp, stinging pain dancing along his cheek.

“Don’t talk,” Alexei said, looking perfectly in control, but half-crazed.

Castiel looked on apathetically.

Two men in black suits appeared in the door and clasped their hands in front of themselves. They almost completely filled up the double-wide frame of the door.

“Alexei, your father insists you wait downstairs until the meeting is over. Mr. Novak, they can see you now.”

Alexei kept his hard gaze on Dean for a couple more seconds and then turned and walked out of the room. Dean had a hand to his face and glanced at Castiel. Was he going to be left alone in here? He was starting to feel panic claw at his throat.

“I’ll follow directly,” Castiel said and the men left.

Castiel turned to Dean and grasped his wrist gently, pulling his hand away from his face. The psychopath frowned—was he upset that Dean had been hit?

“This is pathetic. I taught him how to punch better than that.”

Apparently not.

“He hit hard enough,” Dean grumbled.

Castiel stepped closed. “Please. I know how hard my baby boy can take it.”

Dean repressed a groan and clenched his teeth. He glowered in return of Castiel’s leer.

“Go on. Have your meeting.”

“You’re going too.”

“I am?”

“The meeting is about you.”

“It is?” Dean squeaked.

“Besides. If I left you alone here, Alexei might have you killed.”

Dean’s jaw dropped. Was he joking? Did Castiel ever joke?

“What the fuck, Castiel!” he hissed following the man out of the room.

“I would suggest you use more civil language when addressing my ‘employers.’ Actually, I would suggest not speaking at all.”

“Done.”

They followed the suits down the corridor to another set of double doors. These doors, however, opened into a room that was larger than Dean’s entire apartment in LA. The ceilings were at least twenty feet high, the windows on two walls were floor to ceiling, and there three fucking chandeliers made of glass and crystal and prisms. Rainbows danced all over the white carpets, walls, and furniture. In a way it was kind of beautiful, but it was also just bizarre considering who owned the room.

They sat at a light birch colored table in the center-back of the room. Three men: all at least in their late forties if not older. They wore designer label suits of different cuts and colors and had hair color varying from black to almost grey—but it was impossible to tell them apart because of the similar sour expressions on their faces. Dean wondered if they were not happy about this meeting in particular or if they were always like that. Or maybe they were just unhappy about being interrupted at breakfast.

Several steaming dishes filled the table with what looked pretty much like an American style breakfast: eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, and has browns. As soon as the smell hit Dean’s nose, his stomach growled. Castiel glanced over at him and Dean discreetly raised one shoulder in a shrug.

“We haven’t eaten since that last stop in Pontiac,” he mumbled under his breath.

Castiel nodded thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it, I’m hungry too.” He frowned at Dean. “Why did you mention it?”

Dean rolled his eyes and looked away.

“Are you two just going to stand there like fucking retards or are you going to come in the room?”

Dean felt his body getting even tenser than it already was. It could never be a good thing to have the leaders of organized crime rings displeased with you. Castiel grasped him firmly at the elbow and walked him toward the table. One of the men was chewing on a sausage link and looking Dean up and down with ill-disguised interest. The man who had yelled at them was glowering at them as he took a sip of his coffee. The third man turned a page of the newspaper that was next to his plate. He was the one who looked at them with something approaching the normal expression of a man in a business meeting.

“Have a seat,” he said to them, gesturing to two chairs on the opposite side of the table.

“That one can stand,” the skeevy one said, indicating Dean with a nod of his chin.

Castiel sat at the table and Dean didn’t know what to do. It seemed like the newspaper guy was who was in charge, and Dean was inclined to defer to Castiel’s lead, but he had been told not to sit down by one of the three men he presumed were technically more powerful than Castiel. Though Dean had little doubt the hit man couldn’t kill everyone in the room and escape without breaking a sweat.

Dean remained standing and Scowly McScowlerson plopped a large spoonful of scrambled eggs onto a plate and slid it across the table to Castiel. He began eating slowly and Dean’s mouth watered pitifully.

“Castiel,” the leader started, “did you speak with our business colleagues in San Diego?”

“I did. They refused your offer a third time.”

“I take it that means they won’t be able to refuse a fourth?”

“No, they won’t.”

Dean’s eyes went a little wide as he looked at Castiel. What had he done to these business colleagues? Persuaded them? Tortured them? Murdered them?

“And we’ve been informed that you conducted a little side business while you were out of town.”

The man who was still working on his sausage raised his eyebrows suggestively at Dean. Dean looked away and focused on the back of Castiel’s head, hoping that by sheer force of will his blush wasn’t noticeable.

“I retrieved something I left behind when I escaped prison.”

“I see.”

“Come here,” the man with grey hair and a sausage fetish said to Dean. “You look hungry.”

Dean shook his head slightly. “Thank you, sir, I’m not.”

“Come here anyway.”

Dean relaxed the muscles in his face so his disgust wouldn’t show and walked closer to the table. Just before he walked around it, he realized the man had indicated he could come to the table to eat. So he swiftly pulled out the chair next to Castiel and sat down. Sausage Man frowned.

“I meant come over _here_.”

“Shut-up, Dave,” Mr. Scowl said.

And, Dave? Dean was not well versed with the Russian mafia, but ‘Dave’ was hardly a name that he would associate with either term. It made him less scary, though he was still skeevy.

“Castiel,” the leader said, “you have been an exemplary employee. And the trust my father had in you has been time and again earned with me.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. How long had Castiel been working for them?

“But, I have to say, bringing in an outsider is disconcerting. Letting him know secrets you won’t even share with us is troubling for us.”

“He’s told me nothing,” Dean blurted out. He shrank back as he got the attention of all three men and an annoyed glance from Castiel. “I mean. I’m just saying I’m not a threat. I literally know no secrets.” He stopped talking as he realized the four people glaring at him didn’t really want him to be talking.

“Is that so?” the leader asked. “You know where he lives, do you not?”

Dean opened his mouth but then closed it. He wasn’t sure if that was true. He’d been to Castiel’s condo but he certainly couldn’t pinpoint where it was in the unfamiliar city.

“Castiel won’t even let us know where he lives. So, if he trusts you with that, what else does he trust you with?”

No one answered and Sausage Man pushed the plate full of breakfast meats toward him.

“Have something,” he said, rubbing his thumb up and down his fork.

Dean ignored the sausage and chose a piece of bacon and crunched into it hard with his teeth. The man laughed and took a sip of his orange juice.

“Mr. Sokolov,” Castiel said, finally giving a name to the leader, “do you think what I like to stick my dick into will affect my abilities? If you’re dissatisfied with my services I will tender my resignation immediately.”

Dean’s head was spinning. Forget that he was embarrassed as fuck for being called a dick warmer, but had Castiel just threatened to quit because of him? Could you quit the mafia? He kind of figured there was only one way out of that life. But then, who did you send to kill the guy you used to kill people?

Sokolov smiled. “Put your dick where you like. Men, women, my wife—yes, I know about that—my son—if it will get him to finally shut up about you—some pretty twink prison guard you picked up. I don’t care. But—the pretty twink prison guard doesn’t need to know our business.”

“He won’t. I’m not training him as a protégé—”

“That’s good to hear,” snorted Mr. Scowl, “we’ve got enough bodies piling up as it is without another one of your failed students.”

“—he’s just here because having him in Chicago is more convenient for me. He’ll probably get a job. Or maybe he should go to college.”

Castiel glanced at him and Dean narrowed his eyes. The last thing he needed was his parents and Castiel agreeing on anything.

“So you’re not asking for him to receive protection from us?” Sokolov asked.

“I hardly think he needs it.”

“So why are you telling us about him?”

“Full disclosure is one of my contract stipulations.”

“Ah. Well. I appreciate the gesture of good faith then.”

Dean felt something nudge his foot under the table. He quickly tucked both of his feet under his chair. Mr. Skeeve chuckled.

“So, I guess we don’t even need to know this young man’s name.”

“You don’t,” Castiel said flatly.

Sokolov put his hands in the air. “Easy. That wasn’t a threat.”

Dean looked back and forth between them. What on earth about either of their sentences had indicated to the other than one might be threatening the other?

“Keep your pet, then,” Sokolov said and Dean’s lips twitched down. “But, while I have you here, I do have a matter I would discuss with you.”

Dean figured he was about to be dismissed and wondered how bad it would look if he grabbed a handful of bacon off the plate before he left. However, the man launched right into his discussion. It was in Russian so Dean couldn’t even pick out a single word here and there like he could do with Spanish, so he soon let his mind glaze over and picked up another piece of bacon. Castiel nudged his plate of half eaten eggs toward Dean and he finished them. All three men were talking now, sometimes one at a time and sometimes all at once, sometimes calm and other times definitely not. Castiel listened and occasionally picked a hash brown cube out of a serving dish and popped it into his mouth. Dean wondered if he didn’t understand what was being said either.

Then Sokolov said something that sounded like a question based on the inflection and all three men looked intently at Castiel. The psychopath ignored them to pick up another piece of potato and turned to Dean. He placed it at his lips and Dean opened his mouth to accept the bite. It was delicious with some kind of seasoning on it, but he was flushing hard with angered embarrassment. Sokolov had called him a pet and Castiel was treating him like a pet—and god damn it if he wasn’t acting like one.

Castiel turned back to the men and answered them. In Russian. Dean perked up a bit and stared at the man as the foreign words tumbled smoothly from his mouth. His voice had actually lowered a bit with the change in language and the cadence of the language was oddly sexual on Castiel’s tongue. Of course, Dean found most things Castiel did with his tongue to be sexual. The heat in his cheeks was no longer from embarrassment and he squeezed his thighs together, trying to discourage the tingling in his groin.

The discussion went on for some time and every time Castiel spoke, Dean grew harder and hotter and it was nearly impossible not to squirm in his seat. He probably looked as aroused as he felt, but he kept his eyes on Castiel so he had no idea if the others were acknowledging if they had noticed.

“It’s settled then,” Castiel said in English, jolting Dean from some pretty vivid fantasies.

He picked up another cube of potato and turned to Dean. “Ready to go?”

Dean took the food and a good bit of Castiel’s finger into his mouth. He nodded at Castiel. Castiel smiled and stood up.

“You know how to contact me if you need to reach me before I come back with a job report.”

“Castiel,” The Skeeve said, as Dean allowed himself to be pulled to his feet by Castiel’ strong hand. “What offer could I make you to find some other pet for yourself?”

Dean tensed up. It was completely within the realm of possibility that Castiel would sell him to this man.

“I’ll have to think about it,” Castiel replied.

Dean’s heart sank.

“Please do,” the man said meaningfully.

Castiel led Dean out of the room and Dean was surprised to see the annoyed disgust on his features once his back was turned to his employers. Dean exhaled the breath he had been holding. Castiel would never sell him to that skeevy asshole. He wouldn’t. As long as he kept him happy.

Castiel marched him down the corridor to the room they had waited in earlier and then shut the doors. He sat on the velvet settee and spread his legs. Dean watched him carefully. Castiel crooked a finger at him and Dean obediently walked over to him.

“Something about meetings you can’t understand that turn you on, sweetheart?”

Dean shifted his weight, his hard on painfully evident through his tight jeans.

“I don’t like it, Dean.”

Dean’s eyes snapped up to meet Castiel’s. They were hard and cold and not happy. Dean swallowed.

“I don’t like anyone seeing my baby boy with his cheeks flushed such a pretty pink. Tell me, did my employers really get you that excited? Would you like for Kuznetsov to take you for a test drive?”

Dean figured out Kuznetsov was The Skeeve.

“No,” Dean breathed. “God, no.”

“Then what had you panting so hard just now?”

Dean half-smiled and looked away. “You, Castiel, who else?”

“This is different, my sweet boy. Why?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and mumbled something.

“Speak clearer,” Castiel said softly with a dangerous edge to his voice.

“When you spoke in Russian…” Dean blushed and just remembering the glide of Castiel’s voice in his head made him lick his lips and shift his weight again as his cock twitched.

Castiel laughed and Dean’s eyes snapped up in surprise.

“Really, Dean? On top of all the kinks you already have, we’re adding xenoglossophilia?”

Dean wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but he knew Castiel was amused, which was better than him being angry. And possibly jealous, which was all kinds of interesting.

Castiel rubbed his hands along his thighs. “Come here, baby. You can have it now.”

Dean did hesitate. They were in a room that was probably monitored in the house of a Russian mafia lord. Here and now was not the time for this. But the hesitation was almost negligible.

Dean dropped to his knees and ran his hands up Castiel’s legs, looking up to meet his eyes as he tangled his fingers with Castiel’s and pushed his hands away. He immediately opened Castiel’s fly and leaned forward to bury his nose in the thatch of hair at the base of Castiel’s penis. He inhaled deeply and was rewarded with that earthy scent of his sex. Dean lifted his head and smelled the skin of his abdomen—and there was that lighter scent that was just Castiel.

“Come on, pretty, we don’t have all morning.”

Dean pulled Castiel’s soft cock out. Apparently he was a big fan of underwear being optional. Dean might have been insulted that his aroused state hadn’t immediately triggered the same reaction in Castiel, but maybe his petty jealousy had prevented it. Dean flicked his tongue against the almost hidden tip.

“What are you laughing at, Tex?”

Dean laughed at that nickname and kissed and sucked the tip once before pulling back and stroking the warm flesh in his hand.

“I like it when you’re possessive.”

Dean was rewarded with a hand in his hair and the distinct feel of Castiel’s dick having a favorable response. Dean pointed his tongue and ran it along the inside of Castiel’s foreskin, and then he pulled it back and closed his lips around the sensitive, pink tip. He let out a sighing moan—this was so good. He’d wanted this taste in his mouth for so long. Even after their one and a half long day trip of sexcapades, Castiel had never let him have even one lick of all the spunk that had covered him from head to toe. Just a little bit more and he could probably pull some precome out of him.

Dean pressed closer between his legs and swallowed more down, massaging Castiel’s shaft and trying to get him to fully unsheathe as quickly as possible. He pulled back and flicked his tongue rapidly along the underside of the head, finally getting a reaction out of Castiel: his thigh muscles tightened. Dean hummed his pleasure as he took Castiel in again and the man’s hand clenched tightly in his hair.

“You been practicing on someone else while I was away?”

Dean shook his head and forced himself further between Castiel’s legs, trying to relax his throat as he attempted to take all of him while he was still small enough that he might actually be able to do it. Two hands brushed through his hair and then held him in place. Dean didn’t move as he let Castiel wallow in the wet heat of his mouth. He could feel him growing. Dean closed his eyes and grasped Castiel’s thighs. He took in a deep breath and swallowed, pulling the head of Castiel’s cock to the very back of his throat. Castiel sucked in a sharp breath and jerked his hips. The sudden thrust forward made Dean gag and Castiel allowed him to pull off and cough a couple of times. He looked up to Castiel for approval; for permission to continue.

“You’re doing very well, Dean. Show me what you can do without bars in the way.”

Dean grasped his cocked and pumped it quickly several times until Castiel was fully hard and his foreskin was completely drawn back. The first bead of precome appeared at the slit and Dean leaned forward and gathered it delicately on the tip of his tongue. There was a faint bitter taste on the back of his tongue. He needed more than that. Dean took Castiel in as far as he could manage, which was about two thirds of the way down and wasn’t too bad in Dean’s estimation considering he was out of practice—and not forcefully having his face fucked.

As much as he loved the taste, the heat was actually the best part. Castiel was so hot and that warmth filled his mouth and pushed down his throat. Dean did his best to work his tongue as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked hard, but he’d never been able to do that whole rub your belly and pat your head thing. He decided maybe he could make up for lack of technique with sheer brute force, but Castiel threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair and murmured, “Easy, easy, baby.”

Dean eased up and went pliant under Castiel’s hands.

“Take a breath, good. Now, pull off and run your tongue down the underside. That’s it, follow it down. Kiss me, pretty, there you go. Now back up. Flatten your tongue and lick the tip. Yes…there…again. Now underneath. Kiss, again, down you go.”

Castiel reached inside his pants and pulled out his balls, Dean latched onto one and sucked it into his mouth. He rolled it around with his tongue while Castiel grunted above him and pulled harshly at his hair.

“Fuck, you’re perfect. Can read my fucking mind. Back up.”

Dean returned to licking Castiel’s cockhead, thrilled that it was leaking continuously and overwhelming his senses.

“Open wide, baby boy. Take it in. That’s it, more, stop—take a breath, exhale, relax, go. Oh, fuck yes! There you go, just breathe—swallow, baby. _Shit_! Oh fuck, Dean-Dean—back off, back off! Fuck, angel, you want it that badly?”

Dean yelped as he was shoved back and fell onto his ass. Castiel was immediately on him, forcing him onto his back on the floor and then angling his dick down his throat. Dean jerked at the sudden intrusion and at the awkward angle, but managed to hold on to Castiel’s hips and the man pounded his face like he fucking owned it. And fuck, he did.

Dean moaned and put a hand on his own dick through his jeans, massaging it harshly three or four times before remembering that Castiel said he wasn’t allowed to touch himself without permission. He put his hand back to Castiel’s hip instead and the man laughed manically, but didn’t falter in his rhythm.

“So good, baby boy. You remembered. God, you’re beautiful like this. I love when you cry. Fuck, fuck…baby…I’m gonna give you something good, okay?”

Castiel pulled out and Dean’s eyes flew open. He let out a noise of protest, but it was cut off as Castiel yanked him forward by his wrist. Castiel sat on the floor with the settee at his back and vaulted Dean all the way forward until his face was buried in his crotch again. Dean immediately open his mouth and took him in, but Castiel kept a hand on his shoulder and held him back. Dean could only get the head between his lips, but he didn’t care. He sealed his lips and sucked hard and Castiel used his fingertips to roughly pump the base of his dick. And then Dean let out a scream that was completely muffled by keeping his lips wrapped solidly around Castiel’s cock. The man was coming in his mouth and finally, _finally_, there was that salty, bitter flavor splashing across his tongue, pooling in his mouth, mixing with his saliva, and coating his cheeks. Dean swallowed and swallowed again; waiting to make sure Castiel had finished before pulling off with a loud pop and running his tongue over his teeth and swallowing down the last of it.

He looked at Castiel, panting harshly, and was ecstatic to see Castiel’s eyes glazed with pleasure, his lips parted in a tiny concession of being out of breath himself. Castiel reached forward and harshly opened Dean’s fly, pulling the elastic of his briefs down so he could confirm that Dean had come all over himself from no other stimulation than the hot spill of Castiel’s seed into his mouth.

“Good boy. Fucking perfect.”

Dean pressed forward and kissed Castiel on the mouth, demanding that he either respond or push him away. Castiel gave him a few seconds of a hot tongue fucking into his mouth before he pushed him back.

“Come on, baby. I’ve got a new toy for you to try out.”

~~~

Living with Castiel was surprisingly easy. Living without him was the hard part. Well, no, living with him wasn’t exactly a picnic either.

The man was obsessive compulsive in all the worst ways. He didn’t have to turn the lights on and off three times every time he left a room or unlock and lock and unlock a door again before entering, but everything in his home had a place. And he noticed when it was a quarter centimeter turned in the wrong direction. He would never say anything about it, just correct the placement of a glass on the counter or the position of the fucking soap on the holder in the half bath—and then take it out on Dean’s ass in bed. And if Dean ever intentionally left something out of place every now and then, well, that was okay too.

Dean only slept in his own bed on nights when Castiel was gone, which wasn’t as often as he’d feared it might be. He had no idea what the man got up to during the day. He left at seven in the morning, every morning including weekends, and would return by seven o’clock that night if he didn’t have any other business to attend to. Generally he would return by dawn, but he had on occasion been absent for up to three days. And of course he never left a note or gave him a call. Dean would always just have to wait and see if he would come back.

There were a few other things about living with Castiel that were disconcerting. There was the locked room he was not allowed inside, but Dean actually had zero curiosity about it. He was certain he did _not_ want to know. There was the fact that when Castiel cooked spaghetti he used way too much garlic and they both wound up smelling like the stuff for two or three days later. There was the fact that Castiel fucking Novak _cooked_. How fucking weird was that? There was that one night Dean had been scared half to death when the sheets had been ripped off his body as he’d slept in his own room. His fear-filled adrenaline rush got him awake and alert right away, but he was defenseless as his shorts had been yanked down and a body had crawled on top of him. There had been a wild struggle of hands and teeth and something warm and wet and Dean had screamed and screamed as Castiel had taken him dry and unprepared. Castiel had worked him through it though and even with the killer’s desperation flickering in his eyes and over his skin he had held out long enough to get Dean hard and make him come. When at last Dean had been rewarded with the warm lubrication of Castiel’s spend in his hole, he had writhed under him and canted his hips up—wanting to get fucked again. But Castiel had pulled out and left the room. It had taken a long time for Dean to recover enough to get to his feet and stumble through the dark to his bathroom. He normally didn’t like to clean the traces of Castiel off him until he had to—like if he had to go out into public—but he’d figured he might need to check to make sure Castiel hadn’t done him too much damage. He’d flicked on the lights, shutting his eyes against the sudden brightness. Then slowly he’d opened eyes—and backed into the wall with a weak shout. His sleeping shirt and abdomen were covered in blood. A red hand print was clear as day on his neck. Bloody smears ran up his arms and into his hair. Dean had stared, and then just managed to get to the toilet seat up before he vomited what felt like every meal he’d ever eaten in his life. Castiel also had a bad habit of taking his shoes off at the front door for Dean to trip over when he came in—the one thing he wasn’t freaking OCD about.

It was just little things like that that made living with him a unique experience. For the most part it was just lonely. He had no friends in Chicago and he barely spoke to his parents. What could he say to them? He did nothing all day but watch TV and read books and wait for his psycho-killer sugar daddy to come home so he could bend over and grab his ankles for him. Among other things. He did his best to hide his discontent from Castiel, concerned the man might take it as an insult that Dean wasn’t just pleased as punch with his decision to join Castiel in Chicago. He probably would remind him that Dean had pretty much said he’d rather be dead than a kept man, but he was finding that that last part wasn’t entirely true. He wasn’t a prisoner. He could come and go as he pleased, and at first he’d taken advantage of his free time to do the tourist thing. Once he ran out of sightseeing locations he started looking for interesting mom and pop and shops and hole in the wall diners. But since he had no one to share his finds with—his conversations with Castiel were usually of the “God, yes, harder!” or “Do we have to talk about my parents again?” variety—the daily trips soon lost their shine.

Dean suspected that was why one evening while he was sprawled on the couch reading a book of which he couldn’t remember the last ten pages, Castiel took a break from his cooking and dropped something off on the coffee table. He didn’t say anything, just wandered back into the kitchen, so Dean took that to mean that the items would explain themselves. There were five pamphlets for nearby colleges and universities, and the classifieds of the newspaper opened up to the Help Wanted section. Apparently Castiel was giving him the choice of college or a job—and he was pretty sure there wasn’t a third option. There was also a coupon clipping for fifty cents off two packets of Jell-O mix.

Dean bought the orange flavor out of spite and had cried and moaned his way through a deliciously brutal fucking with a giant dildo with nothing but orange Jell-O for lubrication. Needless to say every time he saw Castiel eating Jell-O now, he got hard.

In the end Dean opted for taking classes at a community college and working a part time job at a Diesel clothing store. He knew he’d only been hired for his looks and the pay was shit, but they’d been willing to be flexible with his hours.

The days were more tolerable now and Dean found that six months had passed since he’d moved to Chicago—and it had been a year and half since he’d seen his parents or siblings. All of his former friends had stopped e-mailing him He hadn’t attempted to make any friends at school as his classes were mostly populated with single parents in their thirties or forties trying to get a degree that would hopefully find them more gainful employment. He’d gone out to lunch with a couple of coworkers during work hours, but he declined all invitations for weekend activities. He was still just as isolated and reclusive as ever during the day.

But the nights made up for it. The time he spent in Castiel’s presence, had his attention to himself, was awesome in the truest sense of the word. It was amazing and rapturous and utterly terrifying. Feeling Castiel move inside him was like a religious experience. Hearing Castiel tell him he was good and beautiful and perfect was like being healed of the deep wounds he had always just assumed were part of who he was.

But then Castiel would pull away and either get up or fall asleep. Dean had zero delusions that he was in a relationship with a hit man who had no concept of empathy, but he was a human with actual human emotions and it hurt to mean nothing to the man he had somehow fallen in love with. He might be able to live with being a kept man, but he wasn’t sure he could survive _that_.

Perhaps that was why he kept doing things to force a reaction out of him. Like now. The night had begun like many others. Dean was shaken awake in his own bed, and then he shuffled down the hall to Castiel’s room rubbing his eyes like a child. From there he either got fucked or cuddled. And no, he was not going to think about a psychopath using him as a snuggle bunny after a good kill.

On rare occasions Castiel would pull him into bed and not instigate any sort of physical contact, but he didn’t immediately try to go to sleep either. Dean had figured out those were the nights when things hadn’t gone perfectly smoothly and he was sore from either a tussle or having to make a getaway that involved strenuous use of his muscles. The first time Dean had put his hands on Castiel to massage his shoulders he’d wound up upside on the floor in a dizzying blur. After a brief interrogation that involved a small knife and a lot of glaring, Castiel realized that he had in fact not been trying to choke out a man who could one handedly throw him bodily upside down off a bed. Dean had figured that meant he would be sent back to his own room, but Castiel had flopped on his stomach and told him to get to work.

Twice he had given the man a back massage and twice Castiel had fallen asleep during it. The fact that he stayed awake the third time is what made Dean want to try to get Castiel to react to him. After giving him a thirty minute massage from shoulders to rump, he leaned close and kissed Castiel’s hips and strummed his fingers lightly on the sides of his body.

“What?” Castiel grunted into a pillow.

“Do you want to turn over?”

Dean phrased everything like question. It kept Castiel calm when he felt like he had choices.

The man shuffled around until he was on his side, but then made a pillow of his arm and settled in. That was fine; that was all Dean needed. He was pleased to find that Castiel was half-hard from the massage already. He slid over Castiel’s body and settled on his side directly in front of his groin. Dean licked the shaft with short, soft flicks of his tongue. He gripped Castiel’s thigh in one hand and buried his face in his crotch, mouthing at his balls. He used his free hand to pump Castiel’s cock as best he could at the awkward angle and soon had the man fully hard and uncharacteristically quiet. Usually about this point in the process Castiel was petting his hair and telling him well he sucked cock and how pretty he looked while doing it. Tonight he was suspiciously quiet. Dean wondered if maybe the fucker had fallen asleep.

He lifted his head to check and sucked in a sharp breath when he saw Castiel wide awake and with his coldly glittering blue eyes watching him with laser focus. For some reason that made Dean braver. He ducked his head back down, suckling Castiel’s ball sac and lifted Castiel’s thigh to maneuver it over his shoulder. Castiel didn’t have to move from his side and the weight of his leg rested entirely on Dean’s body. Dean shuffled over and kissed and licked Castiel’s perineum as he jacked him slowly in one hand. Dean kept moving back and when he saw his goal, swiftly reached his neck forward and swiped his tongue firmly over Castiel’s pink, puckered hole. He thought he might only get the one taste which was why he’d strained for it and done it quickly, but Castiel didn’t pull away or sit up or throw him off the bed. Or stab him.

Dean stayed put, moving his left hand and feeling Castiel's foreskin slip back and forth over his warm, solid cock and waited for a reaction. When he got none, he wiggled forward just a little bit more and licked Castiel's hole again. And then again. He kissed it and then moved his right hand to pull Castiel's cheek back a bit. Dean licked around the ring of muscle, and then lapped at the entrance, feeling a thrill when he finally felt Castiel's body tense in response. He pointed his tongue and thrust it in just past the entrance. Castiel was so tight—Dean wondered if Castiel had ever had anything back here.

Not that he cared one way or the other; he was in fucking heaven. Castiel's cock was wet and needy in his hand, his scent was strong and concentrated between his legs where Dean's head was currently buried, and his hole was cute and sensitive—and he would take that particular information to his grave. Dean hummed and kissed and licked at Castiel's entrance again and again, thrusting just the tip of his tongue in when he could. He could feel Castiel starting to squirm a little, but the man did nothing to stop him—or encourage him. Dean wished Castiel would talk to him.

He turned the hand that was planted on Castiel's ass cheek and dipped a finger down into the crevice. He circled the wet ring with his tongue and finger. He placed the pad of his finger directly over the clenching muscle and then felt a hand on his chin. Castiel didn't saying anything or grab him, but Dean got the message. He moved the finger away and replaced it with his tongue. He delved in as deep as he could manage and jacked Castiel hard and fast—getting outrageously turned on as Castiel writhed against him. Then there was a soft gasp and Dean felt warm, thick come covering his fist and falling to his bicep. He worked Castiel through the orgasm, laving at Castiel's hole, trying to memorize the feel and taste of it.

Castiel rolled onto his back and Dean ducked his head under his leg, letting him go. He sat up and brought his hand to his lips, licking Castiel's come off as he stared into his eyes. Castiel patted the tops of his thighs and Dean moved to straddle his lap. His erection was quite prominent where it stood up toward his belly—dark, leaking, and almost quivering with excited need. Castiel ran his hands up and down Dean's legs, letting his fingers comb through the fine, barely-there hair. He raised an eyebrow.

Dean took himself in hand, using the remaining semen on his hand as a kind of lubrication, though it was starting to get a bit tacky. His precome helped ease the process and soon he was rocking gently in Castiel's lap, hand gliding tantalizingly up and down his cock, eyes locked with Castiel's. Dean licked his lips and pulled a little harder, getting off more on Castiel's undivided attention than any physical sensation.

"You look so beautiful, Dean," Castiel said softly, the first words he'd spoken almost all night.

Dean whimpered and moved frantically. The pleasure that had been slowly building was now dancing and shimmering over his whole body.

"C-Castiel! I—"

"Come, baby."

Dean clamped his thighs tightly around Castiel's hips and screamed with his head thrown back as he obeyed.

Panting and trembling on an orgasmic high, Dean opened his eyes and nearly died at the sight of Castiel's stomach and chest covered in his seed. In awe, he reached a hand forward and rubbed his spend into Castiel's tan skin.

Castiel suddenly grabbed his wrist in a bone crushing hold and Dean winced and cried out softly in pain. He lifted his eyes to Castiel's face and watched as the man slowly sat up.

"Marking your claim, boy?"

Dean either didn't hear his dangerous tone or ignored it. He swayed forward and kissed Castiel, amazed like every other time he did at just how soft his lips were. Castiel kissed him back, sliding a hand through his hair and holding him possessively. Dean wasn't sure how long the kiss lasted or who eventually ended it, but he did know that he fell asleep curled into Castiel's side with his head resting on his chest. And he woke up the next morning in the same position.

~~~

The song blaring from the stores’ speakers was a hard, driving rock song with a bass line that could give a person arrhythmia. Dean wasn’t sure if he would have liked it or not in his old life. In his new one he had no opinion. He barely heard, saw, felt, tasted, or smelled anything that didn’t relate directly to Castiel. Dean knew there was something wrong with that, but he didn’t know what he could do about it. Or if he even wanted to. He did know that it was strange that he was twenty-one years old and he could divide his life story into the “old one” and the “new one.” And even worse, he felt _old_.

“Hey Dean,” Leo called out to him. “That’s good enough. We’re heading out now.”

“Okay.”

Dean put down the T-shirt he’d just folded and checked his back pocket for his wallet: still there. He was ready to go. The store closed at nine on weekdays, but those employees who worked until closing were expected to stay another hour straightening the shelves and cleaning up the fitting rooms for the morning staff. Whenever Leo was left in charge as assistant manager though, they all got to leave about half an hour early.

He politely waited with Leo by the front doors for Vanessa and Cameron to get their purses from the break room, but he didn’t know why. He was just going to separate from them immediately upon leaving the store. The girls came out laughing about the clueless guy who had gotten himself dumped in the fitting rooms earlier by an irate girlfriend who really couldn’t fit into size four jeans. Dean heard them telling the story for a fourth time, with even more embellishments than before, but he didn’t register the story as funny or the girls’ shrieking laughter as annoying. He could barely feel the nipping bite of the November night air.

“Dean!”

Dean focused his eyes and looked up. Leo was looking at him expectantly. Vanessa and Cameron were a few steps ahead, arms wrapped tightly around themselves as they shivered against the wind.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Are you coming?”

“Of course he’s not,” Vanessa said. “He never does.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to stop asking. Come on, dude, it’s cold. Come with us to Bernie’s. I’m telling you, they make this stuffed French toast that will make you orgasm corn syrup.”

“Leo!”

“Gross!”

Dean didn’t really hear the girls’ complaints against Leo’s simile. He was realizing that he really couldn’t feel the cold. And that he hadn’t felt an emotion outside of Castiel’s presence in months.

“Yeah,” Dean heard himself saying. “I’ll come.”

The girls stopped complaining and Leo’s eyebrows shot up.

“You will?”

“Yeah. Maybe if I try Bernie’s out I can get you to stop talking about it.” He gave a small smile and the other three stared at him openly for a moment, making him instantly regret agreeing to go. Then Leo broke into a broad grin and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Awesome! Let’s go. Two studs going out with two hot ladies to the grossest dive in Chicago. Could your life possibly get better?”

Dean had no idea how to answer that question.

~~~

Going out for a late dinner with three coworkers his own age felt remarkably normal. Dean was worried that he would feel out of place or disconnected from them. Or that perhaps a crazed hit man would barge into the diner and drag him out forcibly by the hair. He didn’t know why he thought Castiel would care if he started making friends and building a life for himself in Chicago. The man certainly didn’t keep tabs on him—that he knew of. Dean didn’t check in when he decided to run errands or take a detour home after class. Castiel never asked him where he’d been all day or reprimanded him if he thought he’d been gone too long. He did notice sometimes Castiel was a little more aggressive in bed, but Dean chalked that up to the man being horny and having to wait for Dean to get back made him ornery. And that brought up the frightening and thrilling idea that whatever kind of relationship he and Castiel had—it was monogamous.

Dean did occasionally wonder if Castiel’s lack of questions concerning his whereabouts stemmed from trust or apathy. Perhaps he had mafia goons tailing him all the time, keeping track of where he was and who he was with. But Castiel had told his employers that he wasn’t going to put Dean under their “protection.” Something Dean would be eternally grateful for; he didn’t want to be in the Russian mafia’s debt for any reason.

But everything turned out to be fine. He actually enjoyed listening to Leo’s crazy chatter and even joined in when he could. He found that Vanessa wasn’t nearly as vapid as he’d unfairly pegged her to be. Cameron was a lot shyer than he’d seen her act around customers, so he took that to mean that she had a crush on either him or Leo. It had all been rather pleasant, and the stuffed French toast had been ridiculously decadent. It turned out not to be a big deal at all. It was just the little stone tossed into the pool that started the ripples that became the big deal.

Dean caught a train that was heading in the direction of Castiel’s—their, he supposed—apartment, but it wasn’t the line he normally took. When he got off at a stop he thought was vaguely close to his neighborhood, he was a little disoriented by the different way the buildings and streets looked at night. Aside from the direct routes he took to and from work, all of Dean’s exploring had been done in the daytime. He looked around for a street sign to try to figure out where exactly he was. As he approached the corner he saw a beat up looking Tercel parked along the curb to his left.

Dean cocked his head as he looked at the vehicle. It kind of looked like the one that was parked near all of Castiel’s fancy cars in the garage. He’d always wondered if that was Castiel’s car or just some clunker left behind when a tenant was evicted. Though Castiel’s building didn’t house the kind of people who had money problems. Dean paused outside the car and bent over to peer in the window. He’d never paid enough attention to the car in the garage to tell if that dancing hula girl on the dash of this one was indicative of them being the same car.

“Is this your car?”

Dean spun around, alarmed by the deep, growling voice. And with good reason. The man addressing him was several inches taller and outweighed him by a good fifty pounds of muscles. And he did not look happy.

“Uh. No, it’s not. I’m sorry, is it yours? I wasn’t going to do anything to—”

Dean choked on a terrified squeak as the man’s hand circled his throat and squeezed. He slammed Dean down onto the hood of the car and hovered low over his face.

“You know who owns this car, punk? Maybe if I smear your face all over it he’ll learn not to mess with—”

Dean sucked in a lungful of desperately needed air when the weight of the man and his hand disappeared. He heard a crack and a shout and sat up to see what had happened. The large man was on the ground, gritting his teeth against the pain of three snapped fingers. They weren’t just broken—they were at the kind of angles that made Dean’s stomach churn dangerously. He looked up at the person standing over the injured thug. Castiel looked dispassionately back at him.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Dean rubbed his throat. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Get in the car.”

Dean was too scared to question or be confused by the request, so he pulled open the passenger side door and slid in while Castiel walked around to the driver’s side.

“I knew you knew him!” the man spat. Then his face suddenly went pale as he jarred the hand with the broken fingers.

Dean slammed the door shut and Castiel started the car. Then he casually pulled away from the curb, running over the man’s legs as he did so. Dean flinched and muffled a freaked out sound as his stomach lurched yet again. He turned around to look at the thug and saw him writhing on the ground. He would probably live, but something didn’t look right with his left leg…Dean faced front, unable to continue looking.

“Jesus Christ, Castiel!”

“What?”

“What is _wrong_ with you? Why did you do that?”

Castiel’s brow creased in annoyance. “Dean. When I hurt that gang banger in LA and told you I’d really meant to kill him, you got upset.”

Dean gaped at him. “Uh, yeah, so?”

“So, this time I deliberately didn’t try to kill him. And you’re still upset. I think I’m going to stop trying to please you.”

Dean’s brain whirled around as violently as his late night dinner did. All this time he’d been in Chicago, Castiel had been trying to make life pleasant for him? Part of him felt a little terrified by Castiel’s definition of “pleasant.” Part of him thought it was really kind of sweet—a part he told to shut the fuck up.

“Castiel, you’re a sociopath, not stupid. I’m sure even if you don’t empathize with why I get upset at any kind of violence, you understand why I am.”

“No, actually, I don’t,” Castiel said, turning onto the street that their building was on. “You watch violent movies. You are very blasé about the ‘horrors’ that you see on the news.”

“That’s a completely different situation. It’s not right there in front of me. It’s no one I actually know.”

“You didn’t know that man. And he was going to beat your face concave on the car. Why do you care if he got hurt? And he only received injuries that he will survive whereas he would not have shown you the same courtesy.”

“I…” Dean trailed off. The psychopath had a point. Why did he care if a brutal murderer—his own attempted murderer—got his bones broken and run over by a car? Was it just because he had to witness it? Dean settled down in his seat and watched Castiel as he leaned out through the window to activate the garage door to their building. There was blood on his wrist.

Dean leaned over and grabbed his arm, forcing Castiel to drive awkwardly with hand down the ramp with his arm pulled across his body. Dean ran his thumb over his wrist, feeling the sticky, drying blood pull at his skin. Castiel’s own skin was unbroken; it wasn’t his blood. He let go of Castiel and slunk down in his seat until Castiel had parked the Tercel in its spot next to the Aston Martin. Castiel turned off the car and looked at him.

“It’s not that I care what happens to _him_,” Dean murmured in the dimness, barely audible over the ticking of the cooling vehicle. “I don’t like seeing that side of you.”

“Why?”

Dean turned to look at Castiel. He was completely embraced in shadow except for a bar of light that happened to fall directly across his eyes making them shine blue and fathomless.

“You frighten me,” Dean whispered.

“But are you frightened _of_ me?”

Dean sucked in a breath. The cold calculation with which Castiel lived his life and the complete lack of conscience made Dean aware that he was capable of anything. The things this man could do to other human beings without the tiniest flicker of remorse or doubt made him a monster. And Dean didn’t think that he would be safe from Castiel if he did something to truly upset him, pushed him too far, betrayed him—but he didn’t live in fear of the man. Not for himself. Maybe he should, but he didn’t.

Dean shook his head. Castiel ran a hand along his upper thigh.

“That’s my boy.”

~~~

Two days later the ripples widened as Dean found himself sitting on the red velvet settee in the same tiny receiving room of the mafia mansion he had been in on his first night in Chicago. A little over six months he had been here and not once had any dealings with Castiel’s employers. Now they were summoned to meet with the head honchos again after running over a man on a very public street—that couldn’t be a coincidence.

The doors to the room opened and Dean stiffened, but Castiel sat still and unnerved. Dean couldn’t help but stare at the man who came in. One side of his face and neck were rippling with old, shiny burn scars that disappeared underneath the collar of his shirt. Hair only grew on half his head and one eye was milky and faded. Dean forced his eyes down as the man drew closer.

“Hello, Castiel,” the man said, his voice sounding normal, average. “I hear you’re continuing your tradition of being a bee in the bonnet of someone who’s not stupid enough to be afraid of you.”

Dean glanced at Castiel looking for a reaction: nothing.

“Dean,” Castiel said, “this is Ryan. You remember, I told you about Ryan? He was a childhood friend.”

Castiel did not talk about himself at all. When on earth would he have told him about—then Dean remembered hearing a disturbing story about a friend getting trapped in a trailer Castiel had set on fire when he was fourteen. Unsurprisingly, what stuck with him about the story was not the story itself, but the fact that Dean had been on his knees whimpering pitifully because Castiel wouldn’t give him more than a couple of inches of his cock to suck on. Dean flushed at the memory and nodded stiffly.

“You’ve talked about me? That’s sweet,” Ryan said. “I swear sometimes you imitate a human so well.”

“I am human. It’s the rest of the world that likes to pretend I’m not.”

Dean swallowed thickly. Fuck him if that weren’t true. People—himself included—liked to call people like Castiel monsters because surely no one human could do such sick and depraved acts against other humans. But then, there was Castiel. Technically human and fully capable of setting his “friend” on fire.

“Come on, Castiel, let us have our illusion. I mean, I can look in a mirror everyday and not hold that against you.”

Dean didn’t like the cold glint in Ryan’s eyes as he looked at Castiel, who was still implacable. Dean decided he didn’t like Ryan much, so he didn’t mind saying aloud, “I thought you said he got out of the trailer with only a little smoke inhalation.”

“He did. But that wasn’t the only time he’s been in a box that was set on fire. Was it, Ryan?”

“It does seem to be a running theme in my life,” Ryan said with a laugh. He turned his eyes on Dean. “This one is different, isn’t he?”

“They’re all different.”

“No, not really. They’re meat. Holes. Experiments. Projects. This one is…”

“A decision.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. He knew they were talking about him but he was not following the conversation at all.

“Why are you here, Ryan?” Castiel asked after a short silence.

“Here in this room?”

“No, here in Chicago.”

“I was called in.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow; Dean knew that look. It was his “that’s bullshit but I’m going to humor you by not calling you out on it” look. Dean had seen it a couple of times, usually proceeding a good ass pounding.

“I needed—” Ryan started, but Castiel interrupted him abruptly.

“Leave the room, Ryan.”

There was no argument or hesitation, only a momentarily shocked look before Ryan turned on his heel and left the room. Dean shivered at Castiel’s display of fear-inducing power. Castiel glanced at him.

“Cold?”

Dean shook his head.

“Afraid?”

Dean bit his lip and shook his head.

A small smile curved Castiel’s lips. “Now is not the time for that, baby boy.”

Dean whined softly and leaned against Castiel’s hot body. Castiel turned just enough to put his arm behind Dean’s back and reached across his body to begin massaging the growing bulge in Dean’s jeans.

“You remembering what we did the last time we were in here, pretty?”

Dean nodded his head, spreading his legs. Castiel’s hand cupped and grabbed and rubbed his groin and Dean kept his teeth buried in his lower lip as he watched himself grow and harden in that beautifully slender hand. Dean let his head fall back and it thumped lightly against the wall.

“Castiel…you’re so good…”

Castiel laughed and leaned closed. “Isn’t that my line, sweet boy?”

Dean turned his head so he could press his face to Castiel’s neck. “Your line, your body, yours...”

Castiel hummed appreciatively and gave Dean good, hard tug on his cock.

“Yours,” Dean groaned again, arching up into Castiel’s hand.

Castiel lifted his arm from the back of settee and grabbed Dean by the hair. He jerked his head back, exposing his throat, and then closed lips and teeth on his skin. He bit and sucked at the same spot over and over as his hand yanked Dean’s zipper open with a flick of his wrist and dove inside, taking him in hand through his briefs. His hand worked faster and Dean wasn’t even squirming or bucking up into the friction. He remained nearly motionless—back arched, head pulled back, gasping breaths falling from his parted lips. The first spike of orgasmic pleasure actually radiated out from the large bruise being sucked onto his neck, and the rest of his body followed shortly after.

Dean panted softly as he slumped against Castiel’s side, his eyes closed, body relaxed. He was vaguely aware of Castiel tugging his zipper back up and turning back to his original sitting position, but leaving his arm behind Dean so he could lean more comfortably against him.

“Castiel.”

Dean had changed: he wasn’t even startled by the voice calling Castiel’s name. He felt safe near Castiel, so he needn’t worry about being snuck up on. He would have continued happily leaning against Castiel’s side blissfully unaware of who the intruder was, but Dean recognized that voice. He’d only heard it once, but it was ingrained in his memory.

Dean opened his eyes and found Alexei—bratty Russian mafia prince—standing in front of them with his arms crossed, looking down on them like he had a right to an explanation of what they had just been doing.

“Hello, Alexei,” Castiel said evenly. “Why are you not back in school?”

“It’s winter break.”

“Oh.”

“Why is he still alive?” Alexei asked bluntly.

Dean, rather than burrowing further into the safety of Castiel’s side, sat up straighter and Castiel let his arm fall back on the settee.

“Because he wants me,” Dean said, not knowing why he felt the need to get into a pissing match with a spoiled little fucker.

Alexei sneered at him. “You pathetic cunt. You think he wants you for anything other than your ability to squeeze jizz out of his dick?’

Dean smiled unpleasantly. “It’s more than what he wants you for.”

Alexei’s arms dropped to his sides as his face twisted to something frighteningly ugly. He took a step forward and drew breath to scream something when the double doors were opened and two large men in suits appeared in the frame. Alexei was distracted enough that Castiel was able to get swiftly to his feet and push Alexei gently toward the exit.

“Looks like your father is ready for me. Tell him I’ll be there shortly.”

Alexei threw a murderous look in Dean’s direction and he waggled his fingers at him in reply. Alexei stomped out of the room and Castiel turned back to look at Dean.

“Was that necessary?” he asked.

Dean shrugged a shoulder. Castiel turned and left the room with the suits and the doors were shut again, leaving Dean alone in the room.

Dean sat on the uncomfortable settee for about thirty minutes, staring at the walls, the floor, the ceiling, the thick velvet cover of the seat. He had his phone on him, but the thought of playing Fruit Ninja in a mob bosses’ mansion seemed a little too lackadaisical. He did get a text from his mother reminding him that she and his father wanted to come visit him in his new home in Chicago. He hadn’t responded. That was something he hadn’t discussed with Castiel yet. Saying no to them wouldn’t work forever, and he was certain Castiel would never agree to just disappear for a few days while they visited. Dean was fairly certain Castiel would love to meet his father in person. He shuddered at the very thought.

He shifted in his seat, a little grossed out as his underwear pulled damp and sticky against his skin. It made no sense. Castiel would sometimes catch him on his way to class or work, shove him against the door and masturbate while Dean writhed and panted against the door. Then Castiel would open Dean’s pants and come inside his underwear, zip him up, and send him on his way. It was almost like a sick parody of a mother giving her son his lunch bag on his way to school. And all during class or his shift he’d have to deal with drying semen crusting up his briefs—but it always felt good. Feeling it made his skin tingle and his brain buzz like he was high. But sitting here in his own jizz—and the sensation was technically the same—was just kind of nasty.

The doors to the room opened and two big men in suits—were these always the same two guys or did that many security personnel work here—stood in the frame and indicated he should follow them. He was led down the hall to the double doors that led into the grand room. It was still a beautiful and luxurious room, but not quite as striking as it had been the first time; the late evening light didn’t create the same brilliance and the prisms hung darkened from the chandeliers.

There were a lot more people in the room this time as well. The three bosses sat at their table with what looked like the remnants of dinner spread before them. It smelled pretty good, but fortunately he and Castiel had eaten before they’d come this time. There were several large, intimidating men in suits standing around the corners, windows, and doors, answering Dean’s earlier pondering of whether they were all the same two guys. Several other men and a couple women were seated in chairs in a large, broken semi-circle in front of the table. Alexei was one of them and he glared like a four year in time out at Dean when he came in.

Castiel stood in the middle of the semi circle in front of the table, and Dean was directed toward the break in the chairs to join him. Once he arrived at Castiel’s side his sudden and nearly debilitating anxiety began to dissipate and he took in a deep breath through his nose. He had nothing to be afraid of as long as Castiel was with him.

“Not Protégé,” Sokolov addressed Dean with a mild smile—it was neither pleasant nor upset. “I’m afraid we never learned your name.”

“Dean,” Castiel responded for him. And Dean was perfectly content to let Castiel do all the talking.

“Dean? Is it a family name? Does it have special significance?”

Dean opened his mouth to give the usual rigmarole about his mother's mother's name being Deanna, but then just said, “No.”

“Okay then. To the point. Can you tell me about yesterday night?”

Dean glanced at Castiel for guidance. Castiel stared blankly ahead. Dean faced the three men again and noticed Kuznetsov—The Skeeve—was staring at him very intently. Dean shifted uncomfortably.

“Last night I went to work at a clothing store in Wicker Park, and then after we closed, I joined three coworkers for a late dinner at Bernie’s.” Dean glanced at Castiel to see if he was upset that Dean had gone out with other people; he just stared blankly ahead.

“Bernie’s?” someone, Alexei by the sound of the grating, whiny voice, scoffed to his left. “That place is a shithole.”

“And after dinner?” Sokolov asked.

“I took the L home. Or, I took it to a stop I thought was close by. It was a different train than I’m used to taking. So, when I got on the street, I walked to a corner to read the street signs to try to figure out where I was.”

Dean glanced at Castiel again. He was getting nothing from him.

“Then?” Sokolov prompted.

“I saw a car that looked a little familiar. Like one that is in the garage of our building. I went over to look at it and was attacked from behind. I was thrown against the car and a man tried to choke me.”

“Dear me,” Mr. Scowl said sarcastically. “Were you hurt?”

Dean swallowed his ire. “Not really. Castiel…” Dean stopped. Should he not admit Castiel had been there? Were they trying to catch him in a lie?

“Castiel what?” Sokolov asked evenly.

“He—”

“I stopped him,” Castiel said.

“Yes,” Kuznetsov said sharply. “And drew attention to yourself and the job you were doing.”

“The job was done,” Castiel replied. “Nothing was compromised.”

“Except the police were called in. The man was taken to a hospital. They’re looking for his assailant. What do you think will happen when the surveillance footage picks up Castiel Novak, wanted fugitive on them?!”

Kuznetsov had to huff in a few breaths—the shouting had winded him.

“I parked that car out of view of any surveillance cameras, of which there were very few in that area. I’ve been in Chicago for over a year now—I’ve yet to be detected or even had a red flag raised anywhere. It’s one of the skills you pay me for.”

“That’s true,” Sokolov said smoothly, “but you can understand our concern th—”

“I can’t, actually,” Castiel interrupted. “Aside from my arrest, which I willfully allowed to happen to save your son, when have I ever done anything that would be a cause of concern for you or your people or brought unwanted attention down on you?”

“You never have,” Mr. Scowl said. “Until now. Until you got a pet.”

“Mr. Golubev, what adverse effects have resulted from my actions last night? The authorities don’t know who Banger is, and Banger’s employers are already aware—and fearful—of my existence. What has changed?”

“You’re getting sloppy,” Golubev snarled.

Sokolov put out a hand to quiet him. “Everything turned out fine this time, but what if something had gone wrong? What if Banger has figured out what was happening last night because he saw you there and has reported that to his people?”

“If Banger had figured that out and reported it, we would know about it by now.”

“True. So, he didn’t. But what if he had? What if—”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel interrupted again and Dean chewed on the inside of his lip. He sure hoped Castiel knew what he was doing. “I don’t do hypotheticals in the past tense. They are useful for predicting outcomes and developing contingency plans, but ‘what ifs’ of events that have already come to pass are not worth the come stain on your wife’s skirt.”

A woman sitting to Dean’s left started and looked down at her skirt. It looked clean, but the movement had betrayed her into revealing she was concerned something might actually be there. Sokolov’s eyes moved to the woman and then slowly returned to Castiel.

“You know, _Konstantin_,” Golubev said angrily. “You’ve become a little arrogant.”

“A little?” Castiel asked with a smile.

Golubev got to his feet. “You little shit,” he hissed. “We let you get away with a lot of crap because you’re good at what you do, but you’re still nothing but a hired thug. You work for _us_! You should respect _us_! We keep you from being just a psychopathic serial killer hiding out in a cabin in the woods! Do you really think you’re irreplaceable?! Do you think we couldn’t send someone to take care of you if you become too obnoxious to deal with?!”

“Are you joking?”

The room went deadly silent. The soft whoosh of the central AC was clearly audible in the still room. Dean couldn’t believe some idiot had interrupted the Russian mob bosses’ tirade. And he really couldn’t believe that idiot had been him. All eyes were focused on him.

“What?” Golubev bit out sharply.

Dean swallowed and dropped his eyes.

“No! You had something to say.” Dean jumped as a wine glass shattered near his feet. “Say it!”

Dean glanced at Castiel—he was still facing forward, but his eyes had taken on the cool clarity that indicated he was amused.

“Don’t look at him, you little bitch! If you’re going to try to pretend you’re something other than a come repository, go ahead! Speak!”

Dean felt his body vibrating with anger and trepidation, and lost control of his common sense.

“I asked if you were joking,” Dean said, trying to sound calm and mostly coming off like a person shaking with fear and trying to sound calm. “If you think there’s anyone out there that could take Castiel out, you’re fooling yourself. And if you even think you could order all these guards in the room to kill him right now and that would result in anything less than the deaths of everyone in this room, including yourself, right before Castiel strolled out of here with a jaunty skip in his step—you’re dumber than you look. And you look awfully stupid with that ascot.”

Someone snorted a laugh behind their hand, but everyone else stayed quiet and unmoving. Dean knew part of it was the shock from his audacity, but a good part was also from being reminded of who—what—they were all trapped in a room with. The silence stretched out and Golubev remained on his feet, but did nothing in response. Sokolov had his elbows on the table, fingers laced together in front of his mouth—but Dean could see the amusement in his eyes. Kuznetsov stood up from his chair and walked around the table.

“He’s got a mouth on him, doesn’t he, Castiel?” Kuznetsov asked, eyes locked on Dean’s body.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Castiel replied pleasantly.

“You haven’t been training him too well. Doesn’t seem like he respects his elders.”

“He respects who is deserving of it.”

Kuznetsov's eyes hardened. “Then maybe he needs some new conditioning. Come here,” he ground out harshly. “I’ll teach you something to do with that mouth other than insult people more powerful than you.”

Dean looked at Castiel. He was finally looking back at him: blankly.

Dean, and about three quarters of the other people in the room, started violently at the deafeningly loud gun blast that shattered the still of the room. The bullet had hit the ground where the shards of wine glass lay glittering under the lights. Dean raised his eyes and saw Kuznetsov aiming a large barreled pistol at his chest.

“I said come here, boy. Consider yourself lucky I want to see those pretty lips of yours wrapped around my cock. We don’t often give warning shots. The next one goes in your head.”

Dean started to turn to look at Castiel for help, advice, permission, anything—but he saw Kuznetsov’s trigger finger start to move, so he immediately walked forward. When he was within arm’s reach of the man, Kuznetsov grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and shoved him to his knees. Dean winced as his kneecaps jammed up into his femurs as they collided with the hard floor under the thin Persian rug.

“Make it good, you fucking cunt, or you’ll die anyway.”

Dean’s mouth went dry and he stared at the man’s crotch, centimeters from his face and bulging with a hefty erection. Dean slowly raised his hands as his mind raced.

Why wasn’t Castiel doing anything? Surely he wouldn’t stand by and watch him get skull fucked by this disgusting pig. He wouldn’t stand for Dean to be sullied, so that would mean he would discard Dean after he was used and violated. And there was only one way Castiel discarded people.

Dean chanced a look behind him. Castiel was looking at him with cold, dead eyes. He wasn’t going to stop this—and Dean suddenly realized, Castiel wanted _Dean_ to stop it. But he must know what that would mean—if Dean refused he would be shot. Would Castiel really prefer a bullet in Dean’s head to watching him touch another man? Stupid question. Of course he would. But maybe Castiel was watching to see if he was strong enough to stand up for himself. Or at the very least that loyal to Castiel. Willing to die for _Castiel’s_ dignity. Would he then step up and do something? Would he be willing to chance both of them getting shot just because he didn’t like other people to play with his toys?

As Kuznetsov fisted a hand roughly in his hair and Dean felt the hard line of his penis through the soft cotton of his now exposed underwear against his cheek, he realized none of that mattered. All that mattered was that _he_ would rather have a bullet in his brain than have Castiel see him touch another man.

Kuznetsov was using his other hand to reach inside his underwear to pull out his dick, so he must have put the gun down somewhere. That bit of knowledge gave Dean the courage he needed to rock back onto the balls of his feet and yank his head from the man’s grasp. He stood up and walked back until he was next to Castiel. He looked at him in his fathomless, unreadable blue eyes.

“I won’t touch him or anyone else who isn’t you.”

Castiel smiled and whispered, “Good boy.”

Dean’s lips parted on a short, quiet exhalation of bliss.

“Then you won’t touch anybody!” Kuznetsov shouted, reaching for his gun which was laying on the table.

Sokolov stood up and reached over enough to pull the gun away. Kuznetsov looked absolutely livid, but his shouts were preempted by Castiel speaking.

“Gentleman, I need to know if I’ve ever let you down.”

Everyone in the room looked at the three men as they looked at Castiel.

“Has there ever been a job I haven’t completed in its entirety with absolute discretion and efficiency? I have worked for this organization for close to twenty years, making you all rich and powerful. Is all the thanks I am to receive to be insults, doubts, and being forced to watch you rape Dean? Is that really the best way you can repay me for two decades of service with a perfect record?”

Kuznetsov and Golubev exchanged looks, but Sokolov kept his eyes on Castiel as if too wary to look away for even a moment.

“Furthermore, as the three of you should be intimately familiar with, my loyalty is not an absolute. I have consistently worked for this organization over the years, but you all know it’s not because I consider it my family or my duty. The three of you have the power you do now because I betrayed some of the men I used to work for. You all are very aware that my loyalty lies with the ones who pay me and provide me with whatever I request in order to complete my job. It also lies with those people who don’t _piss me off_.”

His voice took on a harsh, violent edge at the end and goosebumps broke out over Dean’s arms at the dangerous tone. Everyone in the room seemed suddenly on edge: feet shifted, throats swallowed, eyes darted around looking for exits.

Golubev put up a calming hand, “There’s no need to get upset,” he said. “You’re absolutely right. We’ve been out of line tonight, Castiel. You are our greatest asset and we’ve insulted you. Please, accept our deepest apologies.”

Castiel stared at him, showing no outward signs of either accepting or rejecting the plea.

“Castiel,” Sokolov began, “may we have a word with you? In private?”

At those words, the suits moved away from the walls and began to collect the groups and individuals they had escorted in, and Dean was flanked by the two he was pretty sure had led him here. He was walked backed to the waiting room and left alone with the doors closed.

Dean’s heart pounded and his chest squeezed tight with each breath. He gnawed on his thumb as he paced the room. He was fairly certain that those men, and even all their guards, wouldn’t be able to hurt Castiel and he would be able to escape easily. But probably only if he left Dean behind. So, the question remained: would he just be killed or would he be handed over to Kuznetsov? Locked in a basement, force fed drugs until he lived in a world consisting of the hazy cycle of mind and personality erasing highs followed by willingly allowing himself to be raped over and over just to get more drugs to end the pain of withdrawal. He would rather be dead. Maybe Castiel would take pity on him and would put him out of his misery before he skipped town.

The doors to the room opened and Dean whirled around, his shout of Castiel’s name dying on his lips. Alexei entered the room and shut the door behind him. Dean drew himself up to his full height, which made him several inches taller than the brat. The kid walked right up to him though, fearless.

“I gotta hand it to you,” Alexei said, “I don’t like you, but that was pretty ballsy. Refusing a man who could order Castiel to kill you just out of spite.”

“I would rather die at Castiel’s hands than his.”

“And you probably will,” Alexei murmured. “They all do. Which is why I can tolerate you for now. It won’t be long before Castiel gets bored of you or decides you’re more trouble than you’re worth. I can wait you out.”

A few dozen snide responses ran through Dean’s head, but he stayed quiet. And he had guessed right: no response at all upset the arrogant little shit more than any retort would.

“You think you’re special?” he sneered. “Do you have any idea of the sheer number of fucks Castiel has paraded around here before? You’re one of many in a very long line, _Dean_. You’re a new toy that hasn’t quite lost its shine yet. But you will. And he’ll kill you. And what will it all have been for?”

Dean thought about that—what had all his poor decisions and impulsive choices regarding Castiel gotten him? A true sense of self-worth. Absolution from his self-loathing. Fantastic sex.

Dean reeled back when Alexei slapped him. He was more shocked than hurt and rubbed his cheek as he looked at the fuming teenager.

“Do you think this is a joke?” he asked harshly.

Dean realized he had started smiling as he’d thought about what he’d gotten from his relationship with Castiel. And fuck—did they have a relationship? Yeah, they kind of did.

“You piece of—” Alexei hauled back for a punch, but the doors opened.

Alexei turned and went rigid when he saw Castiel.

“We’re leaving,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded and started to step around Alexei, but the kid darted forward and grabbed Castiel by the cloth of his button down shirt.

“Castiel! Why are you—”

Castiel gripped his wrists and Alexei immediately released him; the first smart thing he’d done that day.

“Alexei, you promised me when I went to prison that you would work extra hard at getting your degree and making the most of the life I’d saved.”

Alexei nodded weakly.

“Are you going to break that promise?”

“Of course not!”

“Do that for me if you want to make me happy.”

Alexei’s lip quivered as he tried to hold back tears. “And then what?”

“I’ll look forward to serving you as leader of this organization.”

“And I’ll be your boss?”

“Yes.”

“And I can order you to do anything?”

“Anything.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow in bemusement. Had Alexei not been awake during the little meeting that had just happened? Castiel didn’t take orders from anybody.

Alexei nodded and tried to smile. “Okay. I promise I’ll work hard and turn myself into someone you’d be proud to work for.”

Castiel let go of his wrists and there were stark white impressions of Castiel’s fingers in his skin that slowly bled back to pink. Alexei rubbed one gingerly and then left without looking back at Dean. Castiel met Dean’s eyes and they stood in silence for several long moments. Then Castiel turned and walked out the doors. Dean followed.

~~~

Dean’s shoulders didn’t fully relax until they were back at their apartment and the door was firmly shut and locked behind them. But they tensed again when he felt Castiel’s hand at the back of his neck. Dean turned his head and looked at Castiel who had moved to stand beside him. His eyes were clear, almost bright—completely unlike anything Dean had ever seen before. Then they darkened slightly.

“Go wash up,” Castiel said softly, and then walked away.

Dean exhaled shakily, but not with nervousness or relief. He was already growing hard and trembling with anticipation. When Castiel wanted him clean—he had plans for him.

Dean walked into his room and flipped on the light. He paused to look around at the space. It had changed a lot from its stripped down, barren state when he had first moved in. He’d picked out a blue comforter for the bed and matching curtains for the windows—because his mother would be scandalized if he left nothing but the blinds in the frames. The closet door was open and revealed a pretty full wardrobe considering how little he’d left LA with. Of course most of his clothing consisted of the trendy, sometimes obnoxiously so, fashions he bought with his discount at Diesel, but it was all his. The picture frame with his family had been meticulously cleaned of blood and given a place of honor on the desk next to the laptop Castiel had bought him. A bookshelf sat opposite the desk, half full with books. He didn’t place a new one on the shelves until he was finished with it—so it was actually quite amazing to see how much he’d read in such a short time. He’d never been a big reader, finding it tedious and a waste of time. That was until he had no friends and no life and suddenly reading became an escape. Even though he now had school and work and dare he say it—acquaintances—to keep him busy, he decided he wasn’t going to give up his newfound hobby.

Of course, hobbies and work and school and new relationships all had to take a backseat to what was really important. Dean stripped and dropped his clothes in the laundry basket before entering his private bath and starting the shower. When the water was warm, he used bar soap to wash every inch of his body. Then he shampooed and conditioned his hair with the brand Castiel had given his reluctant approval to. He’d been upset when Dean didn’t smell the way he used to in LA, but Dean had used the generic store brand from Fresh & Easy—a store found only in California. Unable to find a decent replica, Castiel had settled for something that smelled sweet and vaguely of citrus. Sometimes he wondered if Castiel thought it made him smell like lime Jell-O.

Finally, he detached the shower head from the stall and adjusted the spray to a single, steady but gentle stream of water. He reached back and used the device as a makeshift douche. He tried to make it perfunctory and get himself cleaned out, but the anticipation of what was to come made the warm pulse of water inside him pleasurable, arousing and he found himself leaning against the cold tile of the shower wall and pulling gently on his filling cock. His eyes flew open. What one earth was he doing getting off on this when he could have Castiel doing it for him?

He straightened and turned the shower off, returning the showerhead to its proper place. He stepped out of the shower and dried himself quickly with a towel, pausing to look in the mirror as he hung it back up. He supposed he had a nice body, but he felt like the promise of his good looks was a little misleading. His body wasn’t quite as perfect as the flawless symmetry of his face. He was a little soft in places, but certainly not overweight anywhere. He frowned as he looked at his right pectoral muscle—it always seemed a little smaller than the left. He let his eyes drift down to the soft thatch of hair between his legs. It was dark, of course, but not nearly as dark as what was between Castiel’s legs. Hell, even his “blonde” girlfriend had been darker down there than he was. Fortunately, a rather impressively large cock bobbed gently at half mast above a set of heavy, well-proportioned balls. It may be juvenile, but he was rather proud of his endowment and had often forgone underwear in order to feel it move against his leg and rub maddeningly against the texture of his jeans. Once he’d gotten a job at the prison though, he’d thought it would be unprofessional to walk around free balling it. And now of course there was the potential everyday for Castiel to send him out into the world with his seed coating him and held in place with his briefs. He would never give up that opportunity, so underwear everyday had become mandatory.

Dean flicked off the light in the bathroom and didn’t bother to get dressed as he left his bedroom. He walked down to Castiel’s room and stood in the doorway, waiting to be invited in. The room looked empty, but Castiel had a private bath as well. He jumped slightly when he felt hands at his waist. Castiel pressed against him from behind, totally nude, and nudged him into the room. Dean walked to the bed and with only slight pressure on one shoulder, knew to crawl onto the mattress and lay down on his stomach.

Castiel crawled up after him, spreading his legs and kneeling between them. Dean closed his eyes and clenched the sheets tightly with his fingers. It was impossible to know what Castiel had plans to do or what sort of mood he was in until it started to happen. All he could do was shiver in anticipation and try to shift his hips against the bed to get some friction on his fully hard cock.

Castiel’s hands splayed over his hips and pulled up slightly. Dean followed his silent request and got his knees under him, raising his ass and leaving him completely open and exposed to the man who still knelt between his legs. Castiel palmed his ass cheeks apart and Dean’s eyes flew open and he gasped at the gentle, playful lick over his hole. Castiel licked him again and again, flattening his tongue to completely cover the pucker, and then teasing the rim with little flicks of just the tip. Dean’s moans were stifled behind his bitten lips and he tried so hard to stay still, but he was hot all over and his skin tingled and the pleasure radiating out from Castiel’s attentions were doubling back and making everything concentrate right between his legs. The pleasure was almost becoming unbearable. He started letting out a steady desperate moan that he had no hope of controlling. He clenched and released every muscle in his body compulsively, sometimes clamping around the tip of Castiel’s tongue. Dean’s breathing hitched and his legs tried to spread wider and he felt his cock tense and throb and he groaned into the sheets as he was certain he was going to come just from Castiel eating out his ass.

Then Castiel pulled back and gave one cheek a sharp slap. Dean grunted and flinched, but it staved off an orgasm. Castiel grabbed his ass with both hands and massaged it gently. Dean’s hole flexed on its own, seeking out the missing warmth and wetness of Castiel’s mouth.

“You were so good today, baby boy,” Castiel said in a satisfied voice. “You wouldn’t let that fat fuck touch you. You were so strong and brave and _loyal_.”

Dean swallowed and then sighed breathily.

Castiel traced his entrance with a feather light touch of his fingertip.

“Do you remember when you thought you were nothing but a desperate slut, willing to suck any cock just because that’s what fags do?”

Dean shifted and turned his face slightly away from Castiel.

“I asked you a question, boy. Are you going to ignore me?”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“I mean, no, I’m not going to ignore you, but yes, I remember.”

Castiel chuckled and pushed his finger inside, forcing it all the way in. Dean winced. It didn’t really hurt too badly, his body was relaxed and there was quite a bit of saliva inside him, but Castiel’s finger had been completely dry. Castiel prodded at his prostate and Dean groaned brokenly and pushed back onto the digit.

“You made me happy today, sweet boy. You showed everyone in that room that you’re mine.”

“Yesss,” Dean hissed as Castiel crooked his finger and spread him wide enough to add a second finger. “Yours.”

“Hmm,” Castiel hummed. “Did you want him?”

“No!”

“Would you want Sokolov…he’s powerful and attractive, isn’t he?”

“I didn’t notice.”

Castiel growled softly. “Are you lying to me?”

“No, never, Castiel, you know that. Oh, fuck, yes…more. Please.”

Castiel spread his fingers wide and Dean heard him spit. He felt the warm wetness fall directly inside him and his body tightened with excitement. If he was using his saliva, he wasn’t going to use any other kind of lube. That meant it would be nothing but Castiel inside him—the way it should always be.

“Alexei is pretty, surely you noticed that.”

“His personality offsets it nicely.”

Castiel laughed and pumped his fingers in and out of Dean’s heat.

“Ohhh…oh, God. Please, Castiel…stop teasing. Take me.”

“But you’re just a slutty fag, right, Dean? Why don’t you want Alexei?”

“Because I’m not a slutty fag,” Dean said defiantly, grinding back against Castiel’s hand. “I’m your good boy.”

Castiel pulled his fingers out and flipped Dean onto his back so fast he stared up at the ceiling in shock—not sure what had happened. Then Castiel was above him, filling his vision with the dark glinting blue of a hungry ocean.

“You are,” Castiel said. “Do you really understand that?” Dean felt his fat cockhead nudge his hole. “You are perfect for me.”

Dean grabbed Castiel’s arm and raised his hips when the man put hand at the small of his back.

“Perfect for you…I want to be. Am I? Really?”

“You obey so well,” Castiel said as he pushed in—Dean threw his head back against the mattress and his vision exploded with stars. “But you’re not broken, baby. You’re not a mindless slave. You know what you want and what you don’t.” Castiel pushed in deeper and Dean was finding it hard to breathe. “You obey me because you _want_ to, not because you have to.” He bottomed out and Dean heard himself moaning and crying and begging and pleading. Castiel shushed him with a soft kiss.

“Open your eyes, baby boy.”

Dean obeyed, and Castiel started to move.

It was nothing but a slow thrust of his hips, again and again, deep into his body. Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel’s shoulders and kept his eyes locked on Castiel’s as their bodies slowly rocked together. It was the most intimate thing Dean had ever done in his life—feeling their bodies come together again and again, their gaze never wavering, their breathing in synch.

Dean’s lips parted as he stuttered out his breaths, the inhalations catching with each pulse of pleasure as he came in a slow, intense wave of ecstasy. He kept his eyes open, focused on the wild, lustful look in Castiel’s eyes—and he felt him come inside him—buried to the hilt, his seed filling him deeper than it ever had before.

They remained locked together, chests pressing tightly together as they breathed deeply. Dean slid one hand up Castiel’s back, onto his neck, and into his hair. He ran his fingers through the sweat-dampened locks and licked his lips.

“I love you, Castiel. I do. I probably shouldn’t and you probably don’t care. But I love you. I love you. I lo—”

Castiel pressed their lips together and the words were lost in the kiss. And this was enough. Dean didn’t need anything more.

~~~

Dean wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting after that night, but nothing really changed between them. Castiel still disappeared to wherever it was he went and Dean went to work and finished up his first semester of college. They cohabitated, they sometimes had meals together, and they still had some of the kinkiest fucking sex that rivaled the dirtiest pornos Dean had ever seen. And one day Dean caught himself whistling as he poured lime Jell-O mix into boiling water. He stopped stirring and looked around the kitchen. He was alone. He had another month before classes started again and he was going to meet Leo and Vanessa for lunch tomorrow before their shift. He was making green Jell-O for his psychopathic lover who had just that very morning made Dean suck him off as he cooked scrambled eggs.

And he was happy.

Dean laughed incredulously. He was happy. He was enjoying his life. Maybe now was the time to have that discussion with Castiel regarding his parents’ increasing demands for a visit—either them to Chicago or Dean to Dallas. Maybe Castiel would let him leave if he knew that not only would Dean come back to him, he would _want_ to.

Dean finished mixing the gelatin and popped a lid on the container before putting it in the refrigerator to chill. He decided he would go to the building’s gym and work off some his sudden giddy energy with a long, hard run on the treadmill. Castiel didn’t like it when he wore himself out too much at the gym, he liked tiring him out in bed instead, but Dean needed an outlet. And there was no telling when Castiel would be back. It could be a few hours or it could be a few days. And that was okay. Because he would come back. He always did.

After an hour in the gym, Dean took a long, lukewarm shower and contemplated what he would make for lunch. It was technically too late for lunch and too early for dinner, but he was hungry. Maybe just a sandwich…Dean yelped and dropped the towel he was using to dry his hair as he came out of the bathroom and saw Castiel sitting on his bed.

“Uh—hey, Castiel. You’re home.”

“I am.”

Dean stared at him. He didn’t seem any different or like he was angry or upset—though sometimes that was worse.

“Are you…upset?”

“Upset? No. Why?”

Dean just shrugged and bent over to retrieve his towel. “You are just rarely home in the middle of the day. And you never come in here unless—”

Dean paused. It had only happened twice and both times he had hated it even as he’d begged for him not to stop—Castiel had been violent and cruel and distant. He’d left him covered in blood both times, terrified and distraught. Dean pulled the towel close, trying to shield himself from the memories.

“Don’t cover yourself, pretty.”

Dean dropped the towel and rubbed his arm nervously. Castiel looked put together, calm, and most importantly, blood-free.

“Is something wrong?”

“No. Why do you think I’m upset or something is wrong? I was just waiting for you to get out of the shower.”

“Why didn’t you join me?” Dean asked on impulse. Of all the crazy sex they’d had, they’d never had shower sex.

“It’s dangerous. We could slip.”

Dean let out a small laugh. Castiel’s brow creased in confused annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just—no, you’re right. It is slippery.”

Castiel nodded, like he was happy Dean had seen the inherent dangers of horseplay in bathrooms. Exactly how good of a hit man was Castiel that he went around murdering dangerous people with connections to even more dangerous and powerful people and considered _that_ less risky than rubbing one out with his boyfriend in the shower?

Then Dean wondered, would Castiel consider him his boyfriend? He was still pretty sure fuck toy was a more apt description.

“So, do you need to ask me something? Or do you need me too…”

Dean trailed off and looked at Castiel’s crotch. His jeans were flat and showing no signs of needing any attention.

“I wanted to go for a ride. I want you to come with me.”

“O—” Dean glanced around the room. “Okay.”

“Yes, I’m aware it is an unusual request. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Dean smiled. “Okay. Let’s go then. Can I cover up now though?”

Castiel frowned. “I prefer you naked. In fact, I would prefer you to be naked all the time.”

“Sure,” Dean replied flippantly. “I can do that. We’re just going to need to adjust the thermostat up a little bit.”

“Okay. We can do that.”

Dean dropped his smile. Shit. Did he really have to walk around the condo buck ass naked all the time now?

“But in public, I think you better wear clothes.”

“Oh, you think?” Dean said, unable to hold back the sarcasm. Castiel didn’t like it when he was sarcastic.

“Other people shouldn’t see you naked. Just me.”

Dean started to laugh and then realized Castiel wasn’t joking or being ironic.

“God you are so weird sometimes.”

“Just get dressed, boy. I’m ready to leave now.”

“Okay, okay.”

They took the old Toyota Tercel with its stained seats and dented exterior. The tires were practically new and the engine purred with the hum a well-cared for machine. Dean realized this car was meant to look like a junker, but it still had to be able to perform when Castiel needed it to.

Dean watched the hula dancer bob back and forth on the dash as they drove out of the city and a few miles into the suburbs. They came across a small town just on the edge of suburbia and the countryside, and Castiel drove them to a rundown neighborhood covered in graffiti and gang-marked territories. He stopped the car in front of a group of row houses that were beyond dilapidated and approaching condemned.

Dean watched several young children playing on the cracked stoop even though it was ten o’clock on a Wednesday and they were of school age. He glanced over at Castiel who was looking past him out the window at the houses.

“I grew up in that one,” Castiel said. “The third one from the left.”

Dean turned back to look at the house. There were cracks in the siding and one window was covered with plastic taped into place. There were no children on the stoop and it had a hollow, empty look about it.

Dean didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t even sure Castiel wanted a response or a reaction from him.

“My brother is buried under the floorboards.”

Dean’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t kill him, in case you were wondering.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But I am the one who hid his body. I thought the house would make a nice headstone.”

Dean bobbed his head. “Yeah, it’s…very mausoleum-like.”

Castiel let out a soft chuckle. “Shut-up, Dean.”

Dean turned to look at him as he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. He drove west for another hour, taking them way out into farmland and open spaces. After they hadn’t passed another car for over fifteen minutes, Castiel pulled over on the side of the road and parked. He got out and walked around to the back of the car. As Castiel disappeared from view when he opened the trunk, Dean had a small panic attack. Did Castiel bring him out here to help him bury a body? The trunk slammed closed and Dean shut his eyes. He did not want to see what Castiel had in the trunk. He started when something tapped against the glass of his window. He started again when he saw that it was the barrel of a gun.

“Come on, Dean.”

Dean’s hands were shaking as he took off his seat belt and fumbled with the door handle. He got out on unsteady feet and followed Castiel’s lithe, trim figure as he walked out into an empty field. When he got to his side, Castiel was sliding the magazine out of the weapon. He handed the unloaded gun to Dean. He held it awkwardly and Castiel began to point out the pieces as he named them.

“Muzzle, barrel, front sight, slide. Ejection port. Hammer, slide catch lever, rear sight. Safety catch. Do you see this? Safety catch. Trigger, trigger guard. Magazine release. Pull, not push. Grip and…” Castiel waved the magazine in his hand. “Magazine.”

He took the gun back and inserted the magazine. He pulled the slide, loading a bullet into the chamber. He turned to face a line of trees.

“Both hands on the grip, both eyes open. Square feet, square shoulders. Line up the sights…inhale. Fire.” Dean jumped as the gun went off and bark flew on one the distance trees. “Exhale.” Castiel handed him the gun. “Give it a try.”

Dean exhaled slowly, holding the heavy weapon in his hand as he realized Castiel had brought him out here for weapons training. He looked Castiel in the eyes, quirked an eyebrow, and then turned and fired three times. Bark flew up three times in almost the exact same spot. Dean ejected the magazine and pulled on the slide, forcing the round currently in the chamber to pop out of the ejection port. He caught it with one hand in midair and handed the unloaded gun back to Castiel. Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“I grew up in Texas, baby. I probably handled a gun before you did.”

Castiel glared for a moment longer and then he broke out in a grin and laughed. He moved to stand right in Dean’s personal space and Dean placed his hands lightly on his hips.

“How could I possibly forget where my little cowboy came from? I’ll take you to a friend of mine tomorrow and let you pick out your own.”

“You have friends?” Dean asked.

“I have people I let think are my friends.”

Dean laughed softly and tilted his head as he leaned in. They kissed—almost like two normal people do after sharing a joke. Castiel wrapped his arms around his waist and kissed him deeper, thrusting his tongue inside his mouth and making his claim. He pulled back after a couple minutes, leaving Dean breathless.

“I’m going to fuck you in the middle of this field now.”

“Okay.”

~~~

The next time Dean went for a ride with Castiel, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Castiel had received a phone call while they were in the middle of dinner, and after it had ended he’d instructed Dean to finish eating and left the table. When he'd returned he was dressed all in black and ordered Dean to leave his last bite of mashed potatoes on the plate. Dean had followed him wordlessly to the garage and gotten into the passenger seat of the Tercel. Castiel had driven them to the part of Chicago that even a coldblooded mafia hit man should be a little nervous about being in. He parked in front of an old abandoned office building that looked like it suffered more from the residents of the neighborhood than it had from the fire that had gutted it.

Castiel sat back in his seat and put his cell phone next to the hula girl. Dean strummed his fingers on his legs and glanced around outside. No one seemed to be around. He waited for Castiel to explain. He didn’t.

“So, um, can I ask why we’re here?”

“I’m supposed to interrupt a meeting.”

Dean bobbed his head. “’Kay. Why am _I_ here?”

“It’s safer for you to be near me until this is taken care of.”

“’Kay.”

Dean stopped asking questions and patted a beat on his thighs as they sat and waited.

“Stop that.”

Dean stopped moving his hands. He heaved in a deep breath and let it out slowly, and kind of loudly. He looked over at Castiel. He looked annoyed.

“Sorry,” he whispered and tried to make himself smaller in his seat.

“Unzip your fly.”

“What?”

Castiel’s eyes hardened instantly. Dean immediately began to work the button and zipper of his jeans open. Castiel was not in one of the moods where Dean could test the boundaries of their relationship; he was in an “obey me or get cut” kind of mood. Those had gotten increasingly rarer, but they hadn’t disappeared.

“Pull it out,” Castiel commanded as he looked out Dean’s window.

Dean obeyed feeling perilously exposed in the dangerous neighborhood.

“Get it hard.”

Dean gaped. Was he serious? What the fuck was his problem? The people who lived around here would not be okay with one dude watching another dude jack himself in a car on their streets. They would shoot first and not even ask questions later. He didn’t think he was even capable of getting hard in this kind of tenuous situation. But, he dutifully began to move his hand over the soft flesh, willing it to respond to his desire to obey Castiel if not any actual desire. After a few minutes of nothing, Dean gnawed on his lip nervously and glanced at Castiel. The man was staring at his lifeless crotch.

“Hold this,” Castiel said and handed him a nine millimeter handgun.

Dean took the gun and stared in amazement as Castiel bent over and kissed his cockhead. A tingle started where his lips had made contact and danced up into his body. Castiel gripped his shaft hard in one hand and Dean sucked in a sharp breath as his dick responded. One quick visual of Castiel’s pink tongue darting out from between his full lips to lick around the crown and Dean was gone. Blood rushed to his groin so fast he felt dizzy and had to flop his head back against the headrest.

He was raging hard and precome began to pulse out of him. Castiel carefully took the head in his mouth and gave it an experimental suck. Dean was almost certain this was the first time Castiel had ever given a blowjob in his life. Just like he was certain voicing that thought out loud would bring a swift conclusion to his life.

Castiel bobbed his head lower. His technique was pretty terrible considering how many blowjobs he’d received in his life, but to Dean it felt like Satan’s idea of heaven. He raised a hand and almost put it on the back of Castiel’s head, thought better of it, and just ran his fingers lightly, loosely through the dark waves of hair on the top of his head. Castiel sucked on the crown and then let his teeth lightly graze the tip before he went back down, taking in just a little bit more. Dean’s head was exploding with fireworks.

“That’s it,” he sighed. “You’re a fucking natural, Cas.”

Castiel pulled off and looked him in the eyes. Dean stared at him, lips parted as he panted with lust-blown eyes. Castiel leaned forward and kissed his lips, and then he bent his head and took Dean in the perfect wet heat of his mouth again. It technically wasn’t the best blowjob Dean had ever had, but he wasn’t going to last long—not with the levels of adrenaline pumping through every vein and artery in his body.

Castiel’s cell phone buzzed on the dash. He used the hand not stroking Dean’s shaft to pick it up and bring it to his ear.

“Yeah?” he said, pulling off long enough to get the word out. He tongued Dean’s slit while he listened to the person on the other end. Dean’s bit his lip to keep from whimpering. His toes curled in his shoes and he gripped Castiel’s hair harder than he meant to.

“Okay,” Castiel said and hung up the phone. He circled his lips around the head again, giving another suck and Dean stammered out a warning. He came with blinding force making weird, unsexy choking sounds as he pumped load after load of his come into Castiel’s waiting mouth. He swallowed without issue and then sat up, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. Dean panted harshly and stared at him, terrified that he was about to get shanked.

“Zip up. We gotta go in.”

Castiel pocketed his cell phone and got out of the car. Dean stared straight ahead, his brain trying to process what had just happened. He jumped when Castiel tapped the passenger window with the barrel of a gun. Then he quickly tucked himself back in his underwear and jeans and zipped up. He got out of the car, awkwardly holding the weapon Castiel had handed to him.

“I don’t anticipate you needing to use that,” Castiel said, “but I’d rather you have it. I’m going to leave you on the second floor. Just stay there and shoot anything that moves.”

“What if I shoot you?”

Castiel laughed. Really loudly. “You’re not going to shoot me, baby boy.”

They crossed the street and entered the office building. When the door closed behind them it was black as pitch. Dean grabbed onto the back of Castiel’s jacket and practically walked on the back of his heels as they shuffled through the interior and up a flight of stairs. He had no idea how Castiel knew where he was going or if he could even see anything. When they reached the landing, Castiel led him down a corridor and dropped him off at a corner.

“Wait here. I’ve got a meeting to attend. They should all be there, so you really shouldn’t come across anyone here. I’ll be back in like ten minutes. Fifteen tops.”

Dean was surprised when Castiel kissed him because he hadn’t seen it coming. He opened his mouth and Castiel’s tongue plunged into him, tasting of his own semen. Dean grabbed the sides of Castiel’s face and sucked on his tongue. Castiel didn’t pull away and they let the kiss get sloppy and wet. They broke apart and Castiel laughed softly. He put a finger to Dean’s lips.

“Shh now, baby. I’ll be right back.”

Castiel stepped away from him and for a few more seconds Dean could sense where he was in the darkness—and then there was nothing. He didn’t know if Castiel was still nearby or had disappeared to another dimension. He risked the small light from the Day-Glo function on his watch to check the time. It glowed for ten seconds and then went out, leaving him in the blackness again. He was now able to make out the walls in the gloom, but other than that there was nothing.

Dean waited and waited, his heart pounding faster and his breathing getting harder to regulate as his body’s flight response curled in his gut and made his legs itch to run. He knew more than fifteen minutes had passed. He checked his watch again and almost burst out in hysterical laughter. It had been about three minutes. He was going to die of a heart attack waiting for Castiel to come back. He leaned against the wall and forced himself to take in a deep breath. And then another. On the third exhalation, he felt his chest loosen and was able to breathe more or less normally.

He saw something move at the end of the hall. It was on the tip of his tongue to call out Castiel’s name, but then he remembered his order. Dean raised the gun and heard the soft, muffled sound of gun with a silencer being shot. He fired back and nearly jumped out of his skin at the noise it made. His gun did not have a silencer. Dean turned tail and ran. He slammed into the wall at the end of the corridor, having missed the fact that he’d just reached a T intersection. He took off to his left and saw a faint trickle of light a few yards down the hall. He made for the light and ducked inside the room, slamming back against the wall and sliding down to the glass strewn floor.

Dean tried to catch his breath; he couldn’t have run more than thirty yards total but he felt like he’d just run a marathon underwater. He focused his senses, trying to hear if he was being pursued. By allowing himself to become aware of his body again, he felt a burning sensation on his arm. He lifted his hand to inspect the site of the pain, and felt the warm wetness of blood at the same time the metallic bite hit his nose. He pulled his hand back and saw in the faint light the nearly black smear on his skin. He’d been shot! And he was holding a gun! And he was hiding from a man trying to kill him because Castiel fucking Novak had brought him here because he’d thought it’d be safer! The fuck was he doing with his life? How had he thought he was happy with this man?

Dean drew his hand to his chest in a clenched fist as he pressed against the wall when he heard footsteps in the hallway. He willed his stupid heart to shut up—it was so fucking loud. The steps got louder—paused in front of the door of the office he was hiding in—began to move away—turned back. Dean clutched the gun in his hand tighter. Don’t look. Don’t hesitate. Just shoot. He tensed his body, ready to spring into action.

The person flew across the room with a frightening velocity and collided with the wall with a sickening crunch. Dean squeaked.

“Dean?”

Dean looked up at the shadow in the doorway. He jumped to his feet and threw his arms around Castiel’s neck.

“Oh, Jesus, fuck, Castiel. I wanna go. Can we go? Please. I wanna go.”

“Yes, of course, sweet boy. Whatever you like. I have a present for you first though.”

He pulled back and rubbed Dean’s arm and he winced as his hand brushed over his wound.

“What is that?”

“It’s nothing. Barely grazed me.”

“He shot you?” Castiel asked, voice slightly raised and sounding—like he’d just been told that pigs had always been able to fly.

He walked over to the man on the floor and turned him over roughly with a foot. The man groaned.

“You shot him?” Castiel asked the man.

He didn’t wait for a response and shot out his knee cap. The man screamed in pain and Dean flinched. Castiel shot through his left hand. The man screamed again. Castiel shot between the man’s legs and he began wailing loudly and endlessly. Castiel aimed at his right arm and Dean leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist.

“Just kill him, please. Stop this.”

Castiel adjusted his aim and shot the man in the head. He went still and quiet. Dean sighed in relief and placed his forehead against the back of Castiel’s neck. They stood for a moment or two, and then Castiel turned and ushered Dean out of the room with a hand at the small of his back. Dean walked blindly, trusting Castiel to lead him safely outside. But they had one stop to make before they could leave.

Castiel took him upstairs and led him to a medium sized room in the heart of the building. It had no windows and was completely shielded from the outer walls by the inner walls of hallways. In this room the lights were on. Dean had to squint against the brightness, but he knew what he would see when he could open his eyes again. Fifteen to twenty men lay on the floor, sprawled in chairs, or slumped against walls: all dead. Dean recognized a couple of the suits from the mansion. And Golubev had a bullet in his back—he was halfway out the door.

On a conference table at the center of the room, one person was still alive, squirming against the knives that pinned his wrists to the wood. The knives had been driven in with such force that the hilts were digging into his fat wrists, the blades buried almost halfway into the table. Kuznetsov turned his head when he heard them approach. His eyes widened.

“No, no. Castiel. _Konstantin_. I knew your father. I helped mold you, shape you! Sokolov is going to destroy this business! Spare me, work for me. Kill Sokolov. You know I’d run this better than he would. And you know I’d be too terrified of you to turn against you. Mutually assured destruction. Come on, Castiel, please. You have more sense than this.”

Dean stood partially behind Castiel and reluctantly got closer to the man as Castiel approached him. He wasn’t willing to hang out in the doorway by himself. He doubted it, but what if Castiel hadn’t gotten all the guards?

Castiel pulled out another large knife from a sheath inside his jacket.

“You’re right,” Castiel said calmly. “Sokolov is probably going to struggle trying to manage this all on his own. You would make a much better sole successor.”

Kuznetsov let out a soft, scared breathy laugh. “See. Yes. You’re smart enough to think for yourself. Do what’s best for you, Castiel.”

“The problem though,” Castiel said, tapping Kuznetsov’s chest with the flat of the blade, “is that you touched something that belongs to me. And I don’t like it when people touch my things.”

Kuznetsov’s eyes flicked over to Dean.

“That’s right,” Castiel said, and plunged the knife into his neck. He twisted his wrist and yanked the blade out hard, tearing a large chunk of flesh from his throat. The carotid artery immediately began to gush blood and Castiel lifted up the man’s feet, causing more blood to spurt and spray out of him in a dark, shiny pool on the table. He died in less than sixty seconds. Castiel tugged out the blades holding his wrists to the table, and then pulled his corpse until it fell onto the floor like the dead meat it was.

Dean stared in shock for a moment and then gasped when Castiel grabbed him. He cried out when his back collided with the table, warm thick blood soaking through his thin T-shirt and onto his skin. He felt it in his hair and Castiel slid him forward, covering him in the dead man’s lifeblood. And then Castiel was on top of him, thick, hard erection pressing between his legs. Castiel’s eyes were glazed with excitement and lust and he rutted between Dean’s legs, keeping his wrists pinned to the table in a macabre parody of the way Kuznetsov had been.

“No, no, no…”

Castiel silenced him with a kiss and then bit his lip hard. He reached a hand between their bodies, pulling down Dean’s zipper. His body slid again in the smear of blood that was quickly cooling.

“No, stop—Castiel, please—don’t! Stop!”

Castiel stopped moving and looked down at him. His eyes were still a little unfocused and his hips were making small, unconscious humping motions into Dean’s heat.

“Stop? You don’t want me?”

“Not here,” Dean sobbed. “Please. Not like this.”

Castiel’s eyes went cold and dark. His grip on Dean’s wrist increased to the point of pain and his other hand traveled up to Dean’s throat.

“I did this for you.”

“I know, Castiel, I know. But, don’t do this to me.”

“Do this to you?” Castiel’s face closed off and his hand tightened around his throat. “This was the choice you made, Dean. You chose me. This is my world.”

“I know, baby, I know.” Dean raised his free hand and stroked his fingers down Castiel’s cheek, leaving a trail of red. “But it’s not your whole world.”

Castiel stared down at him, and slowly released the pressure on Dean’s throat and wrist. He slid off the table and stood unmoving for endless minutes. Then he reached out a hand to Dean. He accepted the hand and allowed Castiel to pull him off the table and to his feet. Dean stepped close and cupped Castiel’s face with his clean hand. He leaned forward and kissed him chastely. When he pulled back he was rewarded with the deep blue of Castiel’s eyes, clear and calm.

“Will you take me home?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes.”

~~~

Dean gagged as he peeled the blood soaked shirt from his body. He heaved again as the jeans clung to his backside when he tried to pull them down. He barely kept his dinner down as he slipped off his underwear and dumped the three garments into the trash bag Castiel was holding up for him. He was frowning, displeased.

“We’re going to have to do something about your squeamish stomach. Really, this is kind of embarrassing. It’s just a little blood.”

Dean shot him a nasty look that could have killed kudzu. He ignored the flash of white teeth as Castiel smiled and stalked into his bathroom, turning on the shower and setting it to as hot as he could tolerate it. Let Castiel handle getting rid of their bloody clothing and the soiled upholstery in the car. He was going to have to wash his hair at least ten times before he felt clean again.

After a very long time of scrubbing and pounding hot water, the swirls around his feet ran clear down the drain. Dean leaned against the tile and sighed heavily as the water bounced off his chest and up onto his face.

He’d known, of course. He had seen the cold detachment with which Castiel lived his life. He’d seen him attack men and the devastating injuries that resulted. But this was the first time he’d ever actually seen him kill a man. He wondered if this changed anything. If it changed everything.

The door to the shower opened and Dean opened his eyes in alarm. Castiel stepped in and closed the door behind him. He moved under the spray and the water began to run pink, and then red. Dean stared at him for a moment—seeing that the monster and the man were indeed one and the same. He would always have blood on his hands. He would always need it to be a part of his life.

Dean reached out slowly and picked up the soap. He worked up a lather in his hands and began to clean Castiel’s body. Castiel stood motionless and quiet as Dean worked at removing the stains and the taint from his skin.

Soon, the water ran clear again.

Dean brushed his thumb over Castiel’s cheekbone. He gave him a small smile. Castiel wrapped his arms around him and leaned forward, capturing his lips in a kiss. Dean leaned into it, circling his arms around Castiel’s neck and letting the soap drop to the floor with a thud.

~~~

“So, shower sex isn’t so dangerous after all, hmm?” Dean asked as he watched Castiel dress in a black suit with a red tie.

“I nearly slipped three times.”

“Worth it though, huh?”

“I doubt my thighs will agree with that sentiment in the morning.”

Dean chuckled and leaned against the door frame as Castiel sat on the bed to put on his socks and shoes. He had no idea why watching a hit man do such mundane things was so fascinating.

“Well, my dick thanks them for their sacrifice.”

“Don’t get cocky, boy. I don’t like cocky on you.”

Dean tempered his mirth and remained silent while Castiel finished getting ready. He walked him to the front door and tugged on his hand to keep him from just walking straight out.

“I do like you needy and desperate though,” Castiel murmured as he allowed himself to be pulled back for a kiss. “Why don’t you find a nice toy to play with while I’m gone? This meeting shouldn’t take long. I just need to tell Sokolov everything is taken care of and help convince the other members of the family to accept his sole succession. When I get back, I want to be able to sink straight into my sweet boy.”

Dean hummed and kissed him. “Yes, I’ll be good while you’re gone.”

Castiel smiled and cupped an ass cheek in one hand, giving it a good squeeze.

“That’s my boy.”

There was one more lingering kiss that more closely resembled a good tongue fucking, and then Castiel was out the door. Dean let his hand linger on the metal. There was still a small war going on between his conscience and his devotion to Castiel, but Castiel was right: he had made his choice. And even after everything—he didn’t regret it. And that was something he would have to learn to live with.

Dean walked into the kitchen and frowned when he saw their dinner dishes were still on the table. He was tired and wanted to leave them until morning, but the OCD part of Castiel might murder him. For real. He began clearing the table and hummed tunelessly to himself. After he put the leftovers in a Tupperware container, he opened the French style doors of the refrigerator and searched for a place to put it on the full shelves. He tucked the dish in behind a bottle of the weird kale and blueberry juice drink Castiel liked and shut the door. He started when he saw the barrel of a gun three inches from his face. He raised his eyes and his gaze traveled down the length of the arm holding the gun to the smugly smiling face of the person it belonged to. Alexei’s smile turned even crueler.

“Evening, Dean.”


End file.
